


The Lone Dancer

by merelysherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Angst, Ballet, Bullying, Eventual First kiss, Eventual Johnlock, First Impressions, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, John Watson - Freeform, M/M, Mind Palace, Sherlock - Freeform, ballet!lock, rugby!john, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 56,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelysherlocked/pseuds/merelysherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes has known that he wants to be a ballet dancer since he was little. Now he's sixteen, and he still wants to be a ballet dancer. He tries to keep to himself, but that only makes other people think that he's a freak at school. John Watson is a popular kid who plays rugby. He is nice to everyone, even Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock doesn't think John will stay after he stands up for him one day, but John does. This troubles Sherlock-- is John different than everyone else?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Never be bullied into silence.  
> Never allow yourself to be made a victim.  
> Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself."

 People were filing into the theatre, taking their seats, getting ready to see the first solo act of the night. Sherlock watched them from behind the curtain, his heart racing in his ears. He had done many performances before, but this was his first solo. He was actually going to dance alone in front of all these people. The stage manager touched his arm, sending him out of his thoughts. It was time to get ready. Sherlock sucked in a breath and nodded. This was it.

 

   “Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes,” an annoyed voice said, throwing Sherlock Holmes out of his little daydream. Sherlock relaxed in his seat, frowning. Yes, that’s all it was. A silly little daydream. Of course it hadn’t been real. Why on earth would it be?   

“Yes?” Sherlock said after a moment.   

“I would appreciate it if you paid attention. You may be doing well in this class, but that does not mean that I do not deserve respect.”   

Sherlock nodded as the teacher turned around and continued on with her lesson— one that Sherlock did not care about. After all, he had already done the homework for the whole week.   

                                                                                                                         * * *   

 

His other classes passed much too slowly for Sherlock’s liking. All of them were dull, uninteresting, unexciting, mundane— well, you get the picture. It didn’t matter anymore though, since Sherlock was finally able to leave this god-awful place. He practically ran to his locker, not caring about the strange looks that people gave him. People always seemed to give strange looks to people who ran in the halls.   He exchanged his books for his dark purple bag at his locker and rushed out of the building. He glanced at his watch. No. He was going to be late. He ran over to a black car that was waiting for him. Most of the time he hated his brother, but at times like these, he was thankful that he had an older brother who worked a job that most people couldn’t get until they were thirty.   His phone chimed, signaling that he had a new text.

**Next time, try to be on time, brother dear. -Mycroft.**

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He had only been two minutes late. The car rushed out of the school’s parking lot and onto the main road. Sherlock tapped his foot anxiously as he watched London pass. He couldn’t be late again. If he was late, they were going to kick him out. He glanced at his watch again. He had five minutes to get there. His tapping foot started to move faster.   

Exactly three minutes later, the car pulled up to a modern building. A banner with the words “Royal Ballet School” hung from the side of it. Sherlock grabbed his bag and bolted out of the car, not even bothering to thank the driver for taking him.   He ran into the changing room, not wanting to waste a second. Class was going to be started any second now, and if he was late, he wouldn’t be able to participate in the class. And he needed to participate. Leads in performances were hard to get, and he had finally earned one. If he missed a class, they could take the lead away from him. They would say that he wasn’t “committed” enough. He changed into black tights and a blue tight-fitting shirt before going into the dance room.

  On one half of the room, girls about his age were warming up and chatting with one another. On the other side, boys were practicing various ballet positions before class started. Sherlock scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face. He had been here for about a year, but he had yet to make many friends. It often bothered him, but he knew that he couldn’t make friends in this business. If he wanted to become a professional ballet dancer, he had to focus on himself and not others. Still, he liked having a friend or two because it made him feel a bit less lonely. At school, no one ever talked to him, so his only opportunity at really talking to anyone was at ballet.

  “Ready to dance your arse off?” Someone said from behind Sherlock. Sherlock turned around to face a dark-haired boy who was the only person at ballet who didn’t seemed to mind that his brother had gotten him into the school.

  The Royal Ballet School was a very difficult school to get into. Most of the students who go to the school have been wanting to go since they were little. Sherlock was one of those kids, but his parents refused to let him go to a school that was mainly focused on ballet. So, while other kids were learning about saute and plies, Sherlock had been learning basic mathematics and science. Luckily though, his parents had let him go to a ballet program after school since they thought ballet would be a good “activity” for him to do. They never realized that Sherlock would actually want to pursue a career in ballet.   Once Sherlock started ballet, he knew that he would want to dance for the rest of his life. Or as long as he could. He had wanted to go to the Royal Ballet School for secondary school, but his parents wouldn’t let him audition. They said that if he auditioned, they would kick him out of the house. Apparently ballet wasn’t a “suitable” career for their child. But, that didn’t stop Sherlock. He made his brother talk to the ballet school and get him an audition. He got into the school — without his parents knowing — and started to attend the school after his “regular” school. To this day, his parents still didn’t know that he did ballet.   Some of the ballet school kids were bitter about how Sherlock got into the school, but Sherlock didn’t care. Ballet was something that he wanted to do, and, thanks to his parents, he learned that he couldn’t let other people stop him from doing what he wanted to do.   

Sherlock smirked at the dark-haired boy. “Of course.”

  He went over to the bar and placed his leg on it, warming up for the class. The boy followed suit, stretching just like him. Some boys glared at Sherlock, acting as if he had personally wronged them.  

“When will they get over this?” Sherlock asked Greg, frowning.   

Greg — the dark-haired boy— shrugged.   

“It doesn’t matter,” he smirked a bit. “One day you’ll be famous and they’ll just be working as a waiter at some mediocre restaurant.”  

Sherlock laughed just as the instructor came in. He slid his leg off of the bar and ran over to form a line with the other students. Music radiated from the stereo, signaling that class had begun.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support! Below you will find the next installment of the story.

The young ballet dancer sat down on the curb with his ballet bag next to him. His normally perfectly manicured hair was frizzy, and his face still was bright red from class. The class had gone quickly, much too quickly for Sherlock’s taste. If he had his way, he would be able to stay in that room all day, honing his craft. There was something relaxing about being in that room, even when there were other people in it. When he danced, all those people disappeared, and only the music seemed to matter. He sighed softly, wishing that his parents would let him create a little ballet studio in their flat. But, he knew that they never would let him, so he would just have to deal with going to the school’s ballet studio every time he got truly upset.   A loud honk jolted Sherlock out of his thoughts. Sherlock got off of the curb and slid into the black car that was waiting for him.

 

  “Daydreaming again, brother dear?” a boy a few years older than Sherlock asked. You wouldn’t have known that these two boys were brothers except for how they presented themselves. They both gave off that “aura” that they were different than everyone else.   Sherlock stiffened as he put his bag on the seat next to him.

 

  “If I was or not is not your concern, Mycroft,” Sherlock snapped, looking out of the window.   His brother laughed, but it wasn’t a genuine laugh. It was high and it hurt Sherlock's ears. Sherlock believed that Mycroft should pay him every time he laughed like that because it was such an obnoxious sound to listen to. Mycroft twirled the umbrella that he was holding in his hand. Sherlock never understood why Mycroft always had that umbrella with him, but he figured that it made him feel more powerful in an odd sort of way.

  
  “Actually it is my concern. I don’t want you to have unrealistic goals.”   

 

“Me? Having unrealistic goals?” Sherlock asked, glancing at his brother. “You’re the one that wants to have a high position in the British Government.”     
  


“But I already work for the British Government, brother dear. Hence, wanting to gain a higher position is not an illogical thing to want.”   

 

Oh. Of course. While Mycroft was allowed to dream about practically running the British Government, Sherlock wasn’t allowed to want to become a professional ballet dancer. Sherlock’s hand rolled into a fist. Mycroft may have been supportive of Sherlock, he wasn’t truly supportive of him. He didn’t actually believe that Sherlock would ever be able to become a part of a ballet company. He thought that this was just a phase that his younger brother would grow out of. Little did he know that Sherlock was very serious about wanting to pursue this little dream of his.   
  
  
  “And me wanting to become a part of a ballet company is a perfectly logical thing to want. You just refuse to see that, Mycroft.”     
  
  
Mycroft stared at his brother for a second with his lips pursed. Why couldn’t his brother want something more common? He understood that the Holmes family never was really one to want “common” things — like being a teacher or working for a company — but what Sherlock wanted was something that wasn’t common at all. Mycroft knew that there were people who wanted to be professional dancers, but those people were “common” people. They weren’t part of the Holmes family. They weren’t “destined” for something bigger. That’s why Mycroft wanted to work for the government. In the government, he could make a difference. He could use his intellect to help others. In ballet, Sherlock wouldn’t be using his brain for anything. And every time Mycroft thought about that, it made him want to tell his parents what his little brother was actually up to after school.    Sherlock watched him closely and sighed; he knew exactly what his brother was thinking. Even though his face was pretty expressionless, he could tell what he was thinking. Mycroft always got that expression when he mentioned dance.    “Mycroft, my brain isn’t going to rot if I do ballet,” he said, pulling his bag closer to him.   
  
  
“I won’t be able to do ballet for the rest of my life anyways. After I retire from it, then I can work for the government like you or do something else that you and mum and dad approve of.”      
  
Again, Mycroft twirled his umbrella as he figured out what to say. Unfortunately, for him, the car pulled in front of their flat building right as he was about to say something. Sherlock bounded out of the car, not wanting to hear anything that his brother had to say to him. He knew what he would say, anyways. _Oh, Sherlock, you’re wasting your time with ballet. Why don’t you just work in the British Government like me?_ Mycroft didn’t hold a huge position in the government yet, but he was already making connections with his superiors. Sherlock was sure that in a year or two Mycroft would be working the job that he’d aspired to have since he was little. It was annoying, really. Sherlock had to work his arse off to get into a school that could potentially get him a good job while Mycroft was already working for the “institution” that he wanted to work in for the rest of his life.   But, Sherlock tried not to think about it. At least he’d be doing something that he loved to do. That thought made all of this worth while. Well, at least he hoped that it did.     
  
  
He ran into the building before Mycroft could say another word to him. He walked quickly over to the lift, preferring not to get yelled at again by the security guard. Once in the elevator, he turned towards the mirror that was behind him. His normally relatively tame curly hair was still frizzy, and his cheeks were still bright red. Sherlock sighed and ran his hand through his hair, trying to make it look a bit neater. A small beep echoed in the lift as it passed another floor. Sherlock’s eyes widened as he glanced at his watch. He had a minute or two to change before he got home. He stripped down as quickly as possible before sliding his school uniform back on. Just as he was finishing tying his shoes, the doors opened. Perfect timing. Sherlock rushed out of the elevator and down the hall, knowing that dinner would be on the table at any second. And, if he was late, he wouldn't be able to have any of it. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for your continued support. It means a lot to me.

Sherlock slipped into the flat quietly, not daring to make any sound. He dashed up the stairs that were thankfully right next to the door. He watched every step he took as he climbed the steps, not wanting to trip. He knew that his mother would try to talk to him if she knew that he was home, and he didn’t want to talk to her yet. Not until he hid his ballet bag.   He slid his closet door open and brushed some of his suits aside, revealing a small silver safe that was in the corner of his closet. He typed in the code just as someone called his name.   

 

“Sherlock?” His mother asked. Footsteps came up the stairs.   

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened. No, she could’t find the bag. Everything that he had been working for would be gone if she found it. He stowed the bag away before shutting his closet and running over to his bed. He grabbed a book from the bottom of his bed as he sprawled across his perfectly made bed.   

 

“Sherlock?” There was a knock at the door.   

 

“C-come in,” Sherlock said, even though there wasn’t really any point of telling his mum to come in. She would come in anyways. She didn’t really believe in “privacy”.   

 

A thin woman with brown hair walked into the room, smiling softly at her son.   

 

“Mycroft told me that—” Sherlock’s eyes widened. Told her what? Surely he couldn’t have told her about the dancing, could he? “— you must’ve snuck into the flat while I was cooking.” Her son exhaled softly, relieved. She didn’t know about the dancing.   Sherlock smirked a little.  

 

“Sorry, mum. You seemed busy so I didn’t want to interrupt you.”   His mum rolled her eyes, but smiled. “You know that I don’t mind being interrupted when I’m cooking, dear. Anyways, dinner will be ready in a few minutes, so you should wash up.” 

 

  “Of course. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”   She patted his shoulder gently and left the room. Sherlock sighed in relief. That was the second time that his mother had almost caught him coming back from ballet. He didn’t know how many more times he had before she actually did. Mycroft never seemed to try to distract her for him. 

 

 “Well, that seemed like a close call, didn’t it, brother dear?” Mycroft asked as he glided into the room a few minutes later, twirling his umbrella.   Sherlock pursed his lips. Couldn't he be alone for two minutes without one of his family members showing up? It was like he some time of zoo animal that needed to be watched at all times.

 

“What do you want, Mycroft? Don’t you have some work that you could be doing?”   Mycroft smirked and sat down next to Sherlock.   

 

“Is that any way to treat your brother? You know that I’m not the enemy here, Sherlock. You know that I support you and your goals.”   Sherlock rolled his eyes. It seemed like Mycroft got better at lying with every passing day. But, he guessed that was what happened when you worked for the government. 

 

“While I enjoy your company more than I can express, brother mine, I think it would be best for you to leave the room. I am not in the right mind to be with others,” Sherlock said as he walked over to the door and opened it. He pointed to the hall when Mycroft didn’t move. “I’m serious. Get out.”   Mycroft’s eyes widened at his brother’s sudden hostility, but he left anyways. He knew better than to talk to Sherlock when he was in one of his “moods”. 

 

Sherlock shut the door behind him and went over to the mirror that was placed next to his door. His mother thought that the mirror was there simply to help Sherlock see his reflection when he got dressed and such, but it was so much more than that.   When Sherlock couldn’t get to the studio, he would stand in front of his mirror and practice whatever dance he was working on at the time. He would escape from whatever was bothering him and got lost in the music that was playing. Most of the time he got so lost in the music that he lost track of time. He loved it when that happened, but it had made him almost miss school a few times. Usually a pause in between songs was what made him snap out of his little trance. Now though, he couldn’t dance like that. He knew that he didn’t have enough time. So, he simply did a plie, and promised the mirror that he would be back later.  

 

“Sherlock! Dinner is ready!”   Sherlock sighed and left his room, wishing that he could just eat in his room for once. He really wasn’t in the mood to listen to his mother’s stories about her annoying patients.     

 

* * * * * * *

 

Sherlock took his plate to the sink, successfully dodging the question about how their days went. Mycroft, of course, reveled in the question and told their parents all about his day. He loved making himself look like the “better” son. It wasn’t that Sherlock’s parents didn’t like Sherlock— they did— he was their son, after all. But Mycroft was the “more driven” child in his parents’ eyes. Sherlock didn’t understand how they could say that Mycroft had more ambition than him, but he tried to not let it bother him. One day he’d be doing ballet performances that people all over the world would want to see.  

 

He snuck out of the room before his parents could stop him and went to his room. He shut the door behind him and went over to his mirror. Closing his eyes, he started to dance, moving this way and that. Slowly, the tension that he had felt during dinner melted away, and all that mattered was the silent music and the way his body moved to it. There was something relaxing about dancing to silence, especially after being with other people all day. Of course, Sherlock enjoyed dancing to music, but sometimes he wanted to just dance to nothing, especially when he was feeling irritable. 

 

  By the end of Sherlock’s little dance session, he was breathing heavily, and sweat covered his skin. He smiled softly at himself, pleased with the way that he had danced. He rushed over to his bathroom and took a quick shower. Once he was dressed, he crawled into bed, finished with the day.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Feel free to leave a comment with any praise or criticism you may have. I will also try to post the next chapter within the next few days. Don't worry, John Watson will be entering the story shortly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So...John Watson enters the picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support!  
> Here's the next chapter!

The next day Sherlock was running late. Again. He knew that he should really keep track of time better, but for some reason, he never seemed to set an alarm on his phone to make sure that he got to his classes on time. And today, he had to get to class on time.   One of his teachers left because she was having a child and now another one was taking her place. It was quite annoying, in Sherlock’s opinion. Now Sherlock didn’t know what this teacher was like, so he had to make a good impression. Well, try to, at least. 

 

While all of his teachers knew that he was smart— unlike most of the other people at his school — they still didn’t always like him. Mainly because he had a tendency to hand in work a week before it was due or he was tardy to class.   It’s not that Sherlock didn’t like school, he did. It was just that he wasn’t the best at keeping track of time. He rushed out of the ballet studio and up the stairs to the main part of the school. The hall was mainly deserted, much to Sherlock’s dismay. Apparently he had been dancing longer than he thought. He turned the corner and ran down another corridor that would take him to his next class.   Most students went to study hall, but Sherlock wasn’t one of those students. When he had gotten into the special program at the ballet school, he had asked his academic school if he could use its ballet studio during his study hall. Since Sherlock’s grades were so high, the school agreed to his request. Ever since then, he had been ditching study hall to dance instead. 

 

“Sherlock Holmes, is it?” the teacher said, glancing at the door. 

 

Sherlock slipped into the classroom, head down. 

 

  “Sorry, ma’am. I lost track of time,” he said quietly. 

 

“It won’t happen again.”  

 

“I hope that it doesn’t. Today I was reassigning you to chemistry partners. You’re assigned to John Watson.”   Sherlock’s eyes widened at the mention of his partner’s name. She couldn’t be serious. He glanced at the teacher, his lips slightly parted, about to make a retort.   “And no, I will not reassign you, Mr. Holmes. So please, take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the table that a thin, but muscular, John Watson sat at. Sherlock glanced from the teacher at John Watson, then back at the teacher. He scanned her face quickly, hoping that she had been kidding. She gestured to John again. “I will not tell you again, Mr. Holmes. Take a seat.” 

 

Sherlock mumbled under his breath as he walked over to where John Watson was sitting. He didn’t look at him; he simply kept his gaze on the floor as he sat down next to him. He knew that he would have to talk to him eventually, but he didn’t want to talk to him before he actually had to.   You see, John Watson was the stereotypical “jock”. He was part of the rugby team and it wasn’t as if he was just some substitute that sat on the sidelines during important games. No, John Watson was the captain of the team. He was the one that other players looked up to on and off the field. When they were about to lose a game, the players trusted John to lead them to victory. And, when one of the players were being treated unfairly during off of the field, John stood up for them. The whole school knew who he was, even if they didn’t care about sports at all. John Watson was a name that everyone knew. Sherlock had to admit that he had been intrigued by him when he first saw him, but once he realized that he was a jock, he lost interest. He knew how those types of people acted. So, Sherlock started to avoid him— he didn’t want anything to do with him. But now, he had to interact with him.   Sherlock’s stomach churned at the thought. How was he supposed to work with someone like him? He pursed his lips together; he just had to deal with it. All he had to do was maintain his grade. And if that meant doing most of the work when they were assigned “group” work, he would do it. He wouldn’t let John Watson get under his skin.        

 

* * *      

 

Finally, the bell rang, signaling that it was the end of the class. Sherlock threw his books into his bag as quickly as he could without looking suspicious, and left the room. He knew that John would probably want to talk to him about their upcoming assignment, but he didn’t have any desire to talk to him about it. He was actually planning on just doing it himself and act like both of them had done it.   He hurried down the hall with his head down, books clutched to his chest. He was just about to turn down another hall when he heard someone call his name. Without even turning around, he knew who was calling him. He looked in front of him, debating whether or not it was worth it to keep walking and act like he hadn’t heard him. That would never work though. He would just keep on calling him until he turned around.   Sighing, Sherlock turned around. John Watson was basically jogging over to him, his face flushed. A smile smile tugged at the corners of John’s mouth. 

 

  “Thanks for stopping,” John said, stopping right in front of Sherlock. Sherlock nodded tersely. John cleared his throat. “Er, I guess I just wanted to introduce myself since I didn’t have a chance in class. Name’s John Watson.” He held out his hand. 

 

  “I know who you are,” Sherlock said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He glanced at the hand but ignored it. What made John think that he would shake it? Did he give off the impression that he was a friendly person? 

 

  “Oh. Right…” John said, still holding out his hand. Sherlock ignored it, refusing to humor him. After a few moments, John seemed to get the hint and dropped his hand. “Erm, anyways. When do you want to start on the assignment? It’s not due for another week, but… I have a few games coming up so I’d like to get it over with.”   

There went Sherlock’s plan. Guess he’d actually have to do the assignment with him after all. He slipped his hand into his pocket and handed John a business card with his name and address on it. John stared at it for a second before taking it, his lips parted slightly, as if he couldn’t believe someone of Sherlock’s age would carry around business cards. 

 

  “Come to my flat around six. The address is on the card, as well as my number. Best way to reach me is through text,” Sherlock said as he glanced at his watch. No. He was going to be late again.   Without waiting for John’s response, Sherlock hurried off to his locker, and thankfully, away from John Watson.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John embark on their chemistry paper together. Will John be able to change Sherlock's impression of him?

That night, Sherlock didn’t want his ballet class to end. He never wanted those classes to end, but today he hadn’t wanted it to end even more than he usually did. When it ended, Sherlock was tempted to text John — John had texted Sherlock earlier to give him his number — and tell him that he had fallen ill. But if he did that, he would just be putting off the inevitable. He knew that he would have to do this project with John sooner or later, so he may as well just get it over with now.  
  
  
  Sherlock changed back into his school clothes before leaving the studio. Like always, a black car was waiting for him. This time though, Mycroft wasn’t waiting for him. Sherlock let out a small sigh as he leaned back in the seat, thankful that his brother had been to busy to personally pick him up. He really didn’t need to deal with his little witty comments right now. Not when he had something much more important to worry about.   

 

When he got back to the flat, he ran up to his room and stored his ballet bag in the safe. Once the safe was locked, he took a shower to get the smell of the ballet studio off of him. The shower was quick, much quicker than normal; Sherlock wanted to have plenty of time to decide what to wear for tonight. He settled on a black suit and a white button-down shirt after several minutes of staring at his closet. Once dressed, he went downstairs to prepare for his guest.   
  
  
  
Luckily for him, his parents worked late tonight, so he didn’t have to worry about them asking him a bunch of questions about the “friend” he was having over. Since Sherlock was so busy with dance, he rarely had friends over. He did have a few friends from dance, but none of them were ones that he really hung out with. So, the fact that he was having someone over was a big deal. Well, it would’ve been a big deal if his parents were home.   

 

Sherlock rummaged through the pantry, figuring that he should probably lay out some snacks for John. He may not like him, but he didn’t want him to starve. After a few moments of searching, he settled on crackers,scones, nutella, and a jar of jam. He set that out on the kitchen table along with a pitcher of water. A kettle was already placed on the stove in case John decided that he wanted tea.  

 

Once the table was set, Sherlock busied himself with cleaning the counters. Again, he didn’t want to do any of this, but he wanted to be a good host. Besides, he figured that John may become jealous of him if he saw that he lived in a really nice flat. Right as Sherlock put the cleaning supplies away, the doorbell rang. Sherlock sucked in a breath and forced himself to walk over to the door.   He peered through the peep hole, wanting to make sure that John was actually here. Much to his dismay, John Watson was standing outside of his door, looking straight at it. Sherlock sighed and opened the door, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. John straightened up a bit as the door opened. He probably thought that Sherlock didn’t notice, but he did. The gesture was simple, but it made Sherlock do a double take, as if he couldn’t believe that someone like John Watson would want to make himself seem more… important to Sherlock. In school, Sherlock was just the know-it-all who no one really liked. And the students who did like him never really talked to him.   

 

“Come in,” Sherlock said tersely, opening the door a bit wider for John.   John followed him in and shut the door behind him. Sherlock led the way to the kitchen, not bothering to look back at John.   “Would you like tea?” Sherlock asked a few seconds later.   
  
  
  
John set his bag on one of the chairs that surrounded the kitchen table.   “No, thanks.”   
  
  
  Sherlock nodded and abandoned his post at the stove. He picked up a cracker and nibbled on a corner of it. John shifted his foot from one foot to the other, his gaze on the table.   
  
  
  “I,” John began, clearing his throat. “..I thought that we should start off by doing some research? So then we know what we want to write our paper on? Then after that, we could decide who wants to write about what.”     
  
  
Sherlock’s gaze flicked up to John’s face. HIs lips parted slightly. He had expected John to come here and make him do all of the work. Given, he would like to do all of the work, but at least his partner had thought about how they should go about this.     
  
  
“Sounds like a plan. I have books that we can flip through… you know, to decide on a topic.”     
  
  
“I have some books, too,” John said, moving over to his bag. He opened it up, revealing several chemistry books. Sherlock stared at the books. “Problem?”   “Oh—-.” Sherlock cleared his throat.   
  
  
“No— not at all. You can,” He scratched the back of his head. “— start, er, looking for topics. I’ll be right back.”     
  
  
Without waiting for John’s response, Sherlock fled the room, walking quickly into an office that was near the entrance of the flat. He grabbed a few books from one of the bookcases, ones that he thought contained interesting topics for their paper. He would just pick a topic, but he knew that that wouldn’t be fair to John. Plus, that would just make John’s section of the paper bland and uninteresting, which was something that Sherlock wanted to avoid— he didn’t want a bad grade.   He returned to the kitchen a few minutes later with a stack of books. John’s eyes widened as he scanned the titles.     
  
  
“Problem?” Sherlock asked, repeating John’s earlier question.  John shook his head.   
  
  
“No.” He looked over the books again, sighing softly. Each book was probably at least four hundred pages. “Just think that we should get to work.”     
  
  
  
Sherlock nodded, seeming to sense John’s thoughts. If he wanted to practice ballet tonight, before his parents got home, they had to start working now. So, the two boys took several books each, and started to flip through them, hoping to find an interesting topic to write about. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
* * * * * * *

  
  
  
  
  
  John packed up his things silently, yawning a little. He slung the bag over his shoulder and glanced up at Sherlock, who still had his head buried in a book. Sherlock had told him that he wanted to do some more research about the topic they had agreed upon, but really he was just trying to get out of talking to the boy any more than he already had to. He slipped farther down into his chair, hoping to seem like he was deeply engrossed in the book.   John opened his mouth, as if he was about to speak, but closed it promptly. He nodded towards Sherlock and left the flat without another word.

  
Finally, Sherlock heard the front door shut. He let out a breath and closed his book. He dashed up the stairs, his body itching to move, begging him to dance. He had been sitting down for two hours, which was much too long for him.   He closed his bedroom door behind him, sighing softly. He turned on some music as he walked over to his mirror. Once the song got to a good part, Sherlock danced, going this way and that, not caring that he was probably ruining his suit. He had to get the night out of his head before he could over analyze it. Normally Sherlock liked to analyze every little detail, but this was not one of those “details” that he wanted to analyze. He just wanted to move on and pretend that tonight never happened. He had to.   So, he adjusted his form a bit, changed the song, and got lost in the music that echoed off of his bedroom’s walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support! It truly means a lot to me.  
> (Also, I did edit this, but if you saw any typos, please let me know.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's life may be a bit more complicated than the reader thinks.

  The next morning, Sherlock arrived to school early. Thanks to his little “meeting” with John, he hadn’t completed any of his other work that had to be finished. He grumbled to himself as he scouted out some classrooms, hoping to find one that was unlocked. For some odd reason the headmaster made sure that all the doors were locked before he left. Sometimes though, a student stayed last after school and left a door ajar.  

 

It took several minutes to find an open classroom, but finally, Sherlock found one. He walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. He was just about to take a seat when his eyes fell on a familiar dirty blonde-haired boy. One that Sherlock had been trying to avoid for the last day. Sherlock quietly opened the door, hoping that he could slip out before the boy noticed him.   The door, of course, creaked, which made the boy glance up. He smiled softly at Sherlock.   

 

“Sherlock… what are you doing here?” John asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.   

 

Sherlock’s stomach twisted. Well, there went that plan. He took a few steps away from the door.   “Just, er…wanted to get some work done.” He didn’t add that he didn’t do his work because he was too busy worrying about their little meeting. 

 

  John smiled a bit more.   “Same here. The teachers never seem to stop piling it on, do they?” he shook his head and took another book out of his bag. Sherlock stared at him, frowning softly. John looked up at Sherlock; the small smile on his face faded. “What is it?”   

 

Sherlock shook his head, backing out of the room slowly.   “Just figured that I should leave you to work.” He placed his hand on the door, pushing it open more. “…sorry for disturbing you.” 

 

  Before he could hear John’s response, he hurried out of the room, and down the hall. He stared at his feet, mentally shaking his head. Why did John Watson have to be in the classroom that he wanted to use? If he hadn’t been in there, he would’ve been doing his work by now, and he wouldn’t have had to engage in that awful conversation. Sherlock passed the stairwell that led to the gym and the ballet studio. Sherlock’s whole body seemed to gravitate towards the stairs, pulling Sherlock to where he truly wanted to be. 

 

  “No,” Sherlock muttered, realizing that he had been moving closer to it. “I have to do work,” he seemed to tell his body. 

 

He rushed past the flight of stairs before he could change his mind. He couldn’t get sidetracked. He had to do work if he wanted to be able to go to dance class for the rest of the week.   Finally, after searching for several more minutes, Sherlock found an empty classroom. He slipped in and shut the door behind him. He settled himself down at a desk, sighing loudly. John Watson was right. Why did the teachers have to assign so much work? Didn’t the teachers know that their students had better things to do? Like, ballet? Sherlock grumbled to himself, reminding himself that one day, he wouldn’t have to touch another textbook again. One day that he would be on stage, in front of thousands. They would watch him dance, and at the end of his performance, they would give him a standing ovation.   This thought made Sherlock smile; Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time he smiled because he was  actually happy. With his little dream in mind, Sherlock took out his books, and set to work.      

 

* * * 

 

  Sherlock walked back to his locker later that day, pleased with himself. Usually he had to miss lunch to do school work, but he was actually able to have lunch with other people today. The idea made him a little nervous— he didn’t know if anyone would want to sit with him— but he was trying not to think about that. He knew people that would be in the cafeteria during this period, so he was sure that they’d let him sit with them. And, if they refused to let him sit with them, he would sit somewhere else. By himself, most likely. He didn’t want to sit by himself, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t sat by himself before. It wasn’t the worst experience he had ever had, but it wasn’t the best, either. 

 

  The one thing that did bother him, though, was the fact that a bunch of people were milling about in the hall. He hated having to go to his locker when people were around. He wasn’t quite sure why, he just didn’t like it. It made him uncomfortable; like everyone would stop what they were doing and would watch him instead. He knew that that probably wasn’t the case, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was.  

 

He opened his locker and took out his purple bag so he could fit some of the books behind it. He held the bag at his side as he placed some of his books in the locker. 

 

  “What’s this?” Someone asked, snatching the purple bag — Sherlock’s ballet bag— out of his hands. He turned to the thief, his eyes widening when he realized that it was someone from the rugby team. Of course it was someone from the rugby team-- a jock. 

 

Sherlock’s jaw clenched. He held out his hand.   “Just give it back to me. It’s mine,” Sherlock said surprisingly calmly. 

 

  The rugby player rolled his eyes and turned to his friends that were a few feet away from him. 

 

  “Guys, look,” the rugby player said, twirling the bag around his arm with the string, “…a purple bag.” He glanced over at Sherlock. 

 

 “Yes, it’s purple— who cares?” Sherlock took a step closer to the player, but he just took a step away.   

 

The player turned back to Sherlock, but his gaze was on the bag. He smirked when he saw a small emblem on the top of the drawstring bag. The emblem was small, but it was easy to see. A pair of silver ballet shoes were embroidered next to the letters “RBS”.   

 

“Ballet— this is a ballet bag,” the player said, smirking widely. He chuckled softly. “Little twig here likes to do ballet, boys.” he said to his little posse. The other players finally stopped their conversation and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock took a step back, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He knew that nothing good could come of this. Nothing good ever came out of a bunch of jocks teasing the outcasted kid. “Maybe we should teach him how to do a real sport.” He pushed his sleeves up as he walked over to Sherlock.

 

  Just then, a teacher walked into the hall. Sherlock and the rugby player didn’t know this, but the other players did. One of them ran over to the one antagonizing Sherlock. Sherlock took a step away from them, but kept his gaze on them. He swallowed audibly. 

 

  “Alex, come on. Teacher’s coming.” the boy murmured.   Sherlock let out a breath; Alex tossed the bag over to him, shaking his head.   

 

“This isn’t over, twig,” he said, leading his group away from Sherlock. 

 

  One boy loitered around for a few moments before leaving. Sherlock saw the boy immediately; his jaw clenched again. 

 

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” He snapped.   

 

“Oh, you know that we were just having some fun, Sher,” the boy said.   Sherlock glanced in the direction of the other players, frowning. No, that was certainly not fun. He pointed in that direction.

 

  “Leave. I have nothing to say to you, Victor.”   

 

Victor parted his lips, as if wanting to say something, but he closed his mouth and ran after his fellow rugby players instead. The teacher went back into the classroom, satisfied that all was calm in the hall. Sherlock leaned against his locker, palms pressed to his eyes. He slid his phone out of his pocket, texting the only person that could really help right now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues.

 About an hour later, Sherlock was sitting outside on the front step of the school with his arms wrapped around his knees. His book bag and ballet bag laid underneath the little bridge that his legs made. He pulled his legs closer to himself.   His gaze was on the building in front of him, making it look like he was deducing things about it, but in truth, his mind was somewhere completely different. The little incident from earlier today replayed in his mind, making him feel even more insignificant. He knew that he wasn’t insignificant, that he did have a purpose, but after the encounter, he couldn’t feel a bit discouraged. He dug his fingertip into his arm unknowingly, his frustration being taken out on his himself.   

 

A honk from a couple feet away brought Sherlock out of his thoughts. The door opened, and a boy a few inches taller than Sherlock stepped out, shaking his head. Sherlock stood up as the boy walked over to him. Wordlessly, Sherlock handed him his bags and brushed past him. He slid into the car, not stopping until the side of his body was pressed up against the window.   The other boy got into the car a few minutes later. He told the driver where to go before turning towards Sherlock.   

 

“See? I can be of use sometimes,” Mycroft said, surprisingly softly.   

 

This hadn’t been the first time that Sherlock had texted him, asking him to pick him up early from school. A few months ago, Sherlock had asked him to do the same thing. He didn’t like picking him up —- he thought that school was important — but he didn’t like seeing his younger brother upset, either. He wished that he could transfer Sherlock to a different school, but that would require talking to his parents, and he doubted that they would let him transfer.

 

  “If you didn’t show up I would’ve gotten a cab,” Sherlock muttered, his gaze still on the city that passed them.   

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sherlock. You know that I would never make you do that.”   

 

Sherlock sighed, running a hand through his hair. He pressed his forehead onto the glass. This week had been going relatively well, and then this had to happen. Sure, he hadn’t gotten physically injured, but that didn’t mean that Alex’s words hadn’t hurt.  

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mycroft asked quietly.   

 

“Me? Want to talk about it?” Sherlock finally looked at his older brother. “No, I don’t. Besides, don’t act like you’re interested. I know that you’re not.”  

 

 “Sherlock, I am here for a reason. If I didn’t care about your well-being, I wouldn’t have come picked you up. I would have made you walk home or get a cab home. So, clearly, I care about you. I know that you don’t like to believe that I care about you, but I do.”

 

  Sherlock, deep down, knew that Mycroft was right. Why on earth would he have picked him up if he didn’t? For his own pleasure? Seemed unlikely. He smoothed out his trousers.

 

  “No, I don’t want to talk about it.,” Sherlock said quietly.   Why would he, anyways? Both of them knew what he had gone through, anyways. Even though Sherlock told Mycroft anything about what had happened, it was clear. Some jocks from the rugby team had teased him about his ballet shoes. Sherlock didn’t understand. Why was it so wrong that he did ballet? A lot of males did ballet. Sure, it was a bit more uncommon than girls doing ballet, but it was still pretty common. He sighed and ran a hand through his curly hair.

 

  Mycroft watched him for a moment, frowning. Sherlock felt his gaze on him; his body went rigid.   

 

“Don’t you think about it, Mycroft. Don’t do anything to them. If you tried to do something, it would only make things worse.”

 

He’d be the kid that couldn’t handle his problems by himself. Alex’s friends would want to hurt him even more. Sherlock swallowed; an image of what they could possibly do to him flashed through his mind. No, that was definitely not an option. Mycroft could not get involved.

 

  “But I could solve the problem for you. I’d get them away from you,” Mycroft continued.  

 

“No, you’d get one of them away from me.” Sherlock’s glanced at Mycroft. “The other people on the team would know what you did and that would make them go after me. Just leave it alone, Mycroft. I can handle this by myself.”   

 

“Clearly,” Mycroft muttered, just as the car pulled up to their flat.

 

  Sherlock clenched his jaw. How could his brother possibly think that this was his fault? He didn’t know how to fight. He couldn’t have taken the players on. They would have beaten him to a pulp or close to that, anyways. He got out of the car and rushed into the building. He walked quickly into the elevator, refusing to wait for Mycroft.   The elevator took him to his floor within a few minutes. He hurried out of it and practically ran over to his flat. He walked in and shut the door behind him, silently praying that his parent’s weren’t home.   

 

“Sherlock? Is that you?” a voice called from the kitchen. Sherlock’s grunted softly. Did the universe just not want him to have a break today?  

 

“Yes, mum, it’s me,” Sherlock said, bounding up the stairs. 

 

 “Welcome home. Dinner will be ready in a little bit so please get your work done before.” 

 

“Mother, I know,” Sherlock snapped. Why did she have to act like he was five?   Luckily he didn’t have any ballet classes today, so he could actually get ahead in homework again. He hated being behind; it made him feel so incompetent. He buried his ballet bag in his safe before walking over to his desk, where he already had some books laid out on. He turned on his lamp, opened his book, and started working.      

 

 

                                                                                                                       * * *    

 

 

About an hour later, his phone vibrated. Loudly. Loudly enough that it threw Sherlock out of a math problem that he was almost finished with. He groaned softly and picked his phone up.   

 

**So, were we going to meet again? JW**

 

Sherlock pursed his lips. He put the phone next to him, deciding not to respond. He knew that they had to finish the project, but he was not ready to work on it. He couldn’t. He still couldn’t believe that such a person would hang out with those jerks.   A few minutes later, just as Sherlock was finishing up the problem, his phone buzzed again.   

 

**I’m available any time after 5. JW**

 

Sherlock picked up his phone with one hand and scribbled down the last bit of the problem.  

 

**Tomorrow at six. Library next to our school. SH**

 

He sent the text, knowing that he wouldn’t appease John by just ignoring him. He stared at his phone, waiting for John to text him back.   

 

**Sure. See you then. JW**

 

Sherlock pushed his phone away, frowning. Why couldn’t have the new teacher just given him this assignment? Why did he have to have a partner? And, why on earth did it have to be John Watson? He sighed, hoping that tomorrow would be better than he thought it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what will happen at the library?   
> Will Sherlock and John finally "break" the ice?   
> Or will everything that Sherlock thinks about John be confirmed?   
> Stay tuned to find out. :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues.

If he had his way, his ballet class would not have ended. It would’ve kept on going, and he would’ve danced for ages. He, unfortunately, couldn’t do that. Instead of dancing, he had to sit at a table with John Watson, a person that he much rather not associate with. Now, he didn’t know much about John, but that didn’t matter. He knew his type: Jock. Popular. Thought that he was better than everyone else. He pursed his lips, wishing that he could ditch the library while he still could.   He stayed put though, knowing that John would arrive any minute. Sherlock was seated in the back of the library, in a spot that he normally claimed when he didn’t feel like doing homework at home. The place was in the corner of the bottom floor, sealed off by little wooden half-walls. There was a little door on one of the walls that let people enter. A table with four chairs was placed in the middle of the room, and a white board was mounted on one of the walls. An end table sat in the corner of the room, decorated with an electric tea kettle and packets of tea. Sherlock had used that kettle more times than he could count.   Right now, though, he wasn’t in the mood for tea. No, all he wanted was for John to get here and to get more of the project over with. There was a knock on the wood before a boy walked in. He quickly glanced around the room, letting out a small breath when he saw Sherlock.   

“Sorry for being late. Practice ran late,” John said. He took a seat across from Sherlock. “This is a really nice spot— I never knew that the library had places like this." 

Sherlock smirked; he figured that John wasn’t the type of person that enjoyed going to libraries on a day-to-day basis.   

“Yes, well, the manager knows me, so she doesn’t mind giving me the spot,” Sherlock said, glad that he had taken John by surprise. He glanced down at his textbooks. “Anyways, I have done some research for our topic. I think that you should focus on this point—” He pointed to a rather large paragraph. “…and this point.” He pointed to another paragraph on the next page. “I’ll focus on two other points.”  

“Are you sure? I can take one of your points if you want—” 

 “No, that’s not necessary. Just stick to our plan,” Sherlock said quickly, cutting him off. He took out his laptop. “When you’re done writing what you need to write, send it to me so I can add it to my paper.”   

John looked at him, frowning softly. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed together; most people would be thrilled that they weren’t doing all of the work. 

  “Is there a problem?” Sherlock asked softly. 

  John stared at him for a moment before shaking his head.   “No, no. Everything’s fine,” he mumbled.

  Sherlock nodded, his gaze still on John. He stared at him for a few moments, not knowing if he should say something else or not. He finally dropped his gaze down onto his laptop and began to work.

 

 

     
*** 

 

 

  There was a rather loud grumbling sound that threw Sherlock out of his thoughts. Sherlock glanced down at his stomach, frowning ever so slightly. He had forgotten to eat before he had come to the library. He actually hadn’t had time to eat. He had to rush over to the library right after ballet because he had wanted to get some work completed before John showed up.   He was hoping that John hadn’t heard his stomach, but the boy had glanced up when he heard the grumbling. John chuckled softly.   

“Do you think that we should take a break? I mean…if you want to, we can.” John said softly.   

Sherlock shook his head. He just wanted to get his work over with. That way, he could go back home.   

“That’s okay. I’ll eat when I get back home,” Sherlock said, typing away at his laptop.   

John nodded, deciding to leave the subject alone since he didn’t know Sherlock that well. He studied the other boy closely, noticing how even though he was thin, he was muscular. He cleared his throat as his eyes traveled down Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock bit his lip, not really understanding the sudden attention. Why was John looking at him like that?   

“Is something wrong?” Sherlock asked, his gaze flicking up to John’s.  

“No… of course not,” John said quickly. 

  Sherlock frowned and stood up. The room seemed a bit too warm for his taste. 

 “We can resume this session tomorrow. I…” He trailed off for a moment, trying to find the right words. He knew what he wanted to say, but for some reason, he just seemed to have trouble saying it. He tried to shake off the look that John had given him. It didn’t matter how he looked at him. With that in mind, he finally managed to remember what he wanted to say. “…should get going. Mum wants me, and I can’t be late for dinner again.”   

John stared at Sherlock, eyes wide, obviously aware that he had done something wrong. Sherlock glanced this way and that, waiting for John's response. John wanted to apologize for whatever he did, but he wasn't sure what he did wrong. After all, all he was did was look at him.   

“Oh… okay.” John nodded a little. “Right.”   

Sherlock let out a small sigh of relief. He packed his laptop away and grabbed his ballet bag from the floor, blushing ever so slightly, hoping that John wouldn’t say anything about it.

  “Why do you have two bags?” John asked.  

“Because one is for something I do after school,” Sherlock said, hoping that John didn’t ask any more questions. He slung his book bag over his shoulder. “I will text you the details about meeting here tomorrow. If you have any questions about it, text me.”   

With that, he scurried out of the room, not wanting to spend another minute with John. He ran a hand through his hair and rushed out of the building. He hailed a cab and went home, glad that the day was over. All he wanted to do was eat and call it a day. He knew that he would have to meet with John tomorrow, but at least today’s session with him was over.   Sherlock stared out the window, biting his lip. He barely knew John, but already he could tell that he was different than the other rugby players that he knew. John seemed disinterested in being rude to other people simply because they weren’t jocks. But, Sherlock couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about John. Surely he couldn't actually be as nice as he seemed, could he? He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not knowing what exactly to think about John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support! It really means a lot to me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another day at school. Or... is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your continued support! It truly means a lot.

It was safe to say that Sherlock was not in the mood to go to school the next day. All he wanted to do was go to his ballet school and dance and not bother with all the subjects that he had to take at his current school. He knew that he had to go to school, and that it was the right thing to do, but he was not in the mood to go.

He walked into the building, sighing softly. Mycroft’s man honked the horn at him, telling him to have a good day. He smiled a little at that, appreciating the gesture. The man who always drove the Holmes family around was someone that his parents’ had hired many years ago. Now that Mycroft was part of the government though, his parents had “given” him the driver. Sherlock didn’t understand why Mycroft needed a driver, but he didn’t complain, especially at a time like this.

  He headed towards the room that he liked, hoping to get some work done. After he had ditched John at the library last night, he hadn’t been in the mood to do work. He had actually tried to get some of his math homework done, but he was too distracted by what had happened. Now, Sherlock knew that nothing really even “happened”, but he wasn’t used to people staring at him. At least, not staring at him like that. So, instead of doing work, Sherlock had spent the night dancing in front of his mirror instead.

  Sherlock was about to enter an empty classroom when he heard a voice behind him. He paled a little. No. What was he doing here this early? Didn’t he have something better to do? He took a step closer to the room, only to be grabbed and shoved against the wall. He stared up at Alex, eyes wide. He squirmed in his grip, but Alex held him fast against the wall.

“Now, I believe that I was interrupted last time, don’t you think, twig?” Alex snarled, staring right at Sherlock. Sherlock pressed himself harder against the wall, still trying to get away from him.  

“Just let me go! I haven’t done anything to you.”   Alex chuckled.   “Yes, you have, actually.”   

Sherlock frowned; what had he done to him? He never even talked to Alex before. Well, not until he and his little crew started to bully him.   

“What did I do to you, then?”

  Alex just smirked and shook his head. “Now, I’m not going to tell you that. That wouldn’t be very fair, you see. I like knowing stuff that you don’t.”   

Sherlock squirmed in his hands again, trying to break his grip. He tried to hit Alex’s hand with his own, but it didn’t do anything. Annoyance flashed through Alex’s eyes.  

“Do not touch me, twig,” he spat.

He slapped Sherlock across the face, leaving a bright red mark. Sherlock gasped softly and rubbed his cheek. He stared at him, eyes wide, not knowing how he was going to get out of this, or what they were going to do to him. There wasn’t anyone around, and he doubted that he could text someone while Alex was only inches away from him. His heart beat loudly in his ears; his palms began to sweat.   

Alex smirked at Sherlock, seeming to deduce what the smaller, leaner, boy was thinking. He moved a bit closer to him, his face a few inches away from Sherlock’s.   “I thought you were tough,” he whispered, grinning. “But apparently I was wrong. Look at you now— you look like you want to call your mum to save you.” He leaned in so his lips were a few centimeters away from Sherlock’s ear. “But let me tell you a little secret— your mum’s not coming. No one’s coming.”  

He backed away slightly and drew his fist back, raising it so it was aimed at Sherlock’s jaw. Alex chuckled as Sherlock flinched. Alex’s fist swooped down, connecting to Sherlock’s jaw. Sherlock yelped; it felt like a thousand of little knives had been thrown into his jawbone. He pursed his lips, glaring up at Alex.   

“That’s all you got?” Sherlock spat.  

“Oh, it isn’t, twig.”   He drew his hand back again and punched Sherlock in the eye. Sherlock cried out in pain.

For once in his life, he wished that he hadn’t come to school early. For once, he wished that other people were around to help. He stared up at Alex, his lips pursed in a thin line, his eye already swelling up.   

“Should I put him to bed, mates?” Alex asked his group. They all nodded and cheered him on. He turned back to Sherlock. “Okay, princess, it’s time to sleep now.”   

He punched Sherlock across the face, hitting his cheekbone and side of his nose. Sherlock let out a small cry of pain; Alex chuckled and let go of him. Sherlock felt himself fall to floor, landing in a limp heap. Dark spots danced in his eyes; the world spun. Alex and his buddies ran away, leaving Sherlock behind. The darkness took over Sherlock’s vision, and the world went black.    

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  When Sherlock awoke, he was laying on an examination table. He groaned softly; the memories from earlier that morning coming back to him. He frowned, not understanding why they picked him as their target. He hadn’t done anything to them.  

“How are you feeling, dear?” the nurse asked as she walked over to Sherlock.

  “Like I was just punched several times,” Sherlock said, gently touching his eye.  

“That’s going to be black and blue for a few days, dear.”

  “How… how did I end up here?”   Sherlock glanced up at the nurse, who was looking down at him with a rather sad expression. Like she had seen too many students wind up in her office because of bullying.  

“One of the janitors found you. He brought you here.”   

Sherlock frowned a bit.   “I don’t remember that.”   The nurse laughed softly.

  “Well, you were unconscious, dear. Now, do you want me to notify your parents of what happened so they could pick you up?”

  Sherlock’s eyes widened; he shook his head quickly.   

“No. No. Please don’t tell them. I’ll be fine.”   

He hopped off of the table. He walked over to his bag that was resting in a chair. The nurse watched him, frowning a bit.   

“Thank you for all your help,” Sherlock said as he rushed out of the door.   

“But you should rest more!” she yelled after him.

  Sherlock ignored her. He couldn’t hide out in there. He couldn’t miss any classes. He glanced at his watch; his eyes widened when he saw that he had missed the first two periods. Had he really been out for that long? It seemed like he had only been out for ten minutes. He stopped in his tracks when he realized what class was next. No. He couldn’t go to chemistry like this. John would undoubtedly notice the bruising that had already started to form on his face. But, if he missed this class, he would never get on the teacher’s good side.   

He looked back in the direction of the nurse’s office. In reality, he could probably go back and tell her to tell his chemistry teacher that he’s too ill to go to class. Surely, the teacher would not hold that against him. But… he bit his lip. But if he missed the lesson, he would miss important information. He groaned as he forced himself to walk in the direction of the chemistry room, silently hoping that John Watson was sick.  


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a broken record saying this, but thank you for your continued support!

Sherlock arrived at the classroom right on time. He walked in with a bunch of other students, keeping his head down. He shuffled over to his desk and sat down at the empty table. John Watson had apparently not arrived yet. He let out a small sigh of relief. Maybe he got his wish; maybe John was actually sick. Right when he thought he dodged a bullet, he heard a familiar sound across the room.   

His body tensed. Of course he couldn’t be sick. He groaned inwardly as he took his books out of his book bag. He pivoted towards the front of the class so he could see the board better. John sat down next to him and pulled out his books, not bothering to glance over at Sherlock. Part of Sherlock couldn’t believe that he hadn’t even looked at him, but he supposed that that was a good thing considering how his face looked.   

The incident from earlier flashed through his mind. He shivered as he felt the ghost of Alex’s fist slide across his face. He tapped his pen against his notebook loudly. John glanced at Sherlock’s notebook, frowning a bit.  

“Could you stop that?” John asked quietly; the sound had been distracting.

  Sherlock blinked.

  “Oh-yeah-of course,” he said.

He put his pen down and stared at the page instead, afraid that if he looked up, John would notice the bruising on his face. Luckily, part of the bruising faced away from John, so he couldn’t see it. He sucked in a breath and tried to take notes by just listening to the teacher, and not looking up at the board.

  He was pretty successful at copying the notes down correctly, save for some spots here and there. As he took notes, he occasionally glanced over at John’s notebook to make sure that he had copied everything down correctly. He did this for half of the class, that is, until his teacher told them that they had to do an experiment for the rest of the period. Naturally, they would have to do an experiment the day that Sherlock had gotten beaten up. By John’s pals, nevertheless. His hand curled up into a fist.

  “Are you okay?” John asked, pushing two beakers filled with different liquid to the middle of the table.   

Sherlock pursed his lips.

  “Of course. I'm fine.”   

Sherlock wasn’t fine, but he was hoping that John wouldn’t press the subject since he barely knew Sherlock. The teacher rambled about the directions and the purpose of the experiment for a while, telling them to be safe and to actually pay attention to what they were trying to achieve through the experiment. Sherlock rolled his eyes at her instructions, but didn’t question them like he sometimes did with his old teacher. He opened to a new page of his notebook and glanced at the beaker.   

“Do you want to do the mixing?” he asked John, still keeping his head down.   

“Er…sure.”   John took the beakers, sliding them over to him.   

“What do I have to do?”   

He explained to him what they had to do as the teacher came over and brought over a packet that they had to fill out while they did the experiment. Sherlock took it and started it fill it out while John started the experiment.   

 

 

 

***  

 

 

Thirty minutes later, the experiment was over, and Sherlock was flipping through the packet, making sure he had completely filled it out. He flipped to the last page and nodded.   

“I’m going to hand this in.”

  He got up, feeling John’s gaze on him. He tried to keep his head down so John couldn’t see the bruises, but it wasn’t any use. John’s eyes widened as he saw the bruise that had formed across Sherlock’s jawline.   

“What happened? Are you—?” John asked, eyes still wide.  

“Take the beakers back to the back table when you want to leave,” Sherlock mumbled, leaving the table as quickly as possible.   

He handed the paper to the teacher and left the room, hoping that John didn’t follow him. He couldn’t follow him. Sherlock didn’t want to talk about what had happened earlier. He didn’t want to tell John that his rugby buddies did this to him. That they caused him to wind up in the nurses’s office earlier in the morning. Because, if he told John, John would probably defend them. He would tell him that he had done something to rile them up, even though Sherlock hadn’t.   And although Sherlock didn't know John that well, he didn't want to hear him say something like that. 

Sherlock let out a breath as he entered a small room that was lined with mirrors. A wooden bar was attached to one of the walls at other side of the room. Sherlock felt himself relax as he took in the room. He locked the door and dropped his book bag next to it. He toed his shoes off before slipping his ballet shoes on. Even though he didn’t have his ballet bag, he kept an extra pair in the room for occasions like this one. He never knew when he would need to make a quick getaway to this place.

  He turned on the music, and started to dance, entering a whole other world. A world that did not include bullies. Sherlock’s calm world dissolved when he heard a knock on the door. His heart jumped into his throat. No. How could someone have found him? No one knew about this place except for him. Well. He was sure some people knew about this room, but no one actually used it. He swallowed as he turned towards the door. The person knocked again, but this time the knock was harder, more urgent.   

Sherlock wanted to ignore the person on the other side of the door, but he knew that this person wasn’t going to leave him alone until he opened it. He slowly walked towards it, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Now, there were only a few people that could possibly be at the door. Sherlock knew that, but he didn’t want to see any of those people. He just wanted to keep dancing until it was time to go home. Truthfully, he probably could have just went home after chemistry, but that hadn’t occurred to him at the time. At the time, all he knew was that he had to get away from John, and his body had led him here.   He stopped in front of the door, his mind racing.

He sucked in a breath as he wrapped his hand around the door knob, hoping that John Watson was not on the other side of it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, is John Watson standing on the other side of the door? Read to find out!

Sherlock opened the door slowly, even though he already had a feeling who was on the other side of the door. The door opened, revealing a frowning John Watson. John was about to say something, but he pursed his lips together instead. He scanned Sherlock, his gaze resting on his ballet-shoes before finding his face again. Sherlock stared at him with red cheeks. He was never supposed to find out about the dancing. Ever. That was supposed to be his secret that he kept from everyone, and now John Watson knew.   
  
  “Obviously you wanted to say something,” Sherlock said after a few moments of silence. John furrowed his eyebrows. “I mean, obviously you did not come here to simply spy on me, John. So, whatever you have to say, please say it.”   

He backed up a little before turning around going back into the room. He turned the music off while John tried to compose himself enough to say something. John shut the door behind him, figuring that Sherlock didn’t want anyone to know about this place.

  “So…er, you dance?” John asked, his gaze taking in the small but quaint room.   Sherlock gave a terse nod.   “Right…” John scratched the back of his head. He took another step into the room. “…and the bruises…what happened?”

Even though he hadn't wanted John to figure out that he danced, he was perfectly comfortable answering any questions about dance. Well, he wasn’t perfectly comfortable about it, but he would much rather talk about the inner workings of ballet than who punched him in the face. He ran a hand through his curly black hair.   

“It doesn’t matter,” Sherlock muttered, turning towards the mirrors.   

John stared at him, his lips in a thin line. Sherlock watched John’s reflection, hoping that it would turn towards the door and leave. He was not ready to talk about this with him. Besides, it didn’t even matter. He knew what John was like. He knew what would happen if he assumed that he was “different” than other jocks. That path was one that he did not want to go down again.   

“But…doesn’t? Sherlock, your face is bruised. It didn’t just get like that for no reason.”   Sherlock sucked in a breath.   “I know that we don’t know each other very well, but you can tell me this, Sherlock. I know that you may not trust me, but you can trust me with this.”   

Well, at least John knew that he didn’t really trust him. Sherlock walked over to the corner of the room, where his book bag was. He shook his head.  

“It’s not important,” he muttered.   

“Not important? How is this not important?” John asked, his voice a bit higher than it normally is. “Sherlock, you look like you got into a fight with someone. I want to know who did it to you.” John ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not going to go around telling people that you got beat up. I wouldn’t do that.”   

Sherlock shook his head, not buying John’s words. How could he, anyways? John was a jock. He was part of the group that acted as if they were better than everyone. Some of them went around tormenting people that they thought were inferior to them in some way. Other people acted like they were nice, even though they knew that they bullied other people.   

“John, it would be prudent of you to stop asking me about this.” Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it a bit.

John cleared his throat a little and shook his head.   

“No, it wouldn’t be bloody prudent.” He took a step closer to Sherlock, his gaze on his face, taking in the bruises. “Did you get into a fight with someone?” he asked softly.   

Well, technically speaking, Sherlock had gotten into a fight with someone, in the sense that Alex and him got into an argument with each other. But, it didn’t really feel like a fight to Sherlock. Not since he was at the receiving end of all of the punches.

  “Something like that,” he muttered.   

John’s eyes widened ever so slightly, as if he couldn’t believe someone like Sherlock could get into a fight. Sherlock took a step back and went over to his book bag.

  “Don’t worry about what happened, John. They are just bruises— they will heal.” He slung his book bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  John stared at him, his lips turned down in a frown. He walked over to the door, stopping when he was right in front of it. He turned to face Sherlock.   “Do you really not trust me then?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s why you’re not telling me who did this to you, right?”

  Sherlock sighed loudly; couldn’t he just let him leave? He wasn’t going to tell him who punched him. Didn’t he understand that?   “John, it has nothing to do with not trusting you. It has everything to do with not trusting them. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to leave.”

  John looked as if he wanted to say something, but he moved out of the way instead. Sherlock took a few steps closer to the door.

  “By the way, please don’t let anyone know about this place. I’d prefer it if people didn’t know that this place existed.”  

With that, Sherlock took his leave, moving away from John as quickly as possible. John stood in the doorway, watching Sherlock go. Sherlock rushed up the stairs, keeping his head down. He sighed in relief once he was outside. A black car was waiting for him with a boy in a suit leaning against it.

  “I thought I told you not to get into fights, dear brother,” Mycroft said.   

Sherlock ignored him and slid into the car. Mycroft got in soon after and shut the door.   

“How did you know that I got into a fight?” Sherlock asked once a few moments had passed.

  “Because. I saw your face when you were walking out. Anyone could deduce that you got into a fight.”

  Sherlock pressed his forehead to the glass.   “I didn’t instigate the fight, Mycroft. You know that I didn’t.”   

“Yes, but you didn’t do anything to stop it. You know that I told you to use physical force if necessary.”

  Sherlock pursed his lips. Yes, he did remember him telling him that. But that wasn’t the point. He didn’t want to use physical force. Besides, he had never punched anyone before.   

“They will keep this up, brother dear, if you do not do anything to stop it,” Mycroft continued.

  “You will not interfere. I told you— I can handle this on my own.”

  “Yes, clearly you can. That’s why you got beat up.” He rolled his eyes. “If you could handle this, this would have never happened to you.”   

“You will not get involved!” Sherlock yelled, finally looking at his brother. “This is my problem. Not yours. So stay out of it!”   

Luckily, they had just pulled up to their flat, so Mycroft didn’t have a chance to say anything to Sherlock about the matter. Sherlock got out of the car as quickly as he could and scrambled into the building. He ran into the elevator, ignoring the yells of an annoyed bellman. He sucked in a small breath, hoping that his parents would not be home for dinner tonight. He wasn’t sure how many confrontations he could take in one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story!  
> It truly means a lot to me.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a text from an unlikely person.

**Tell them I had to stay late in school. -SH**

That was the text that Sherlock Holmes sent his older brother about a half an hour after he got back home. He had been hoping that his parents would have to stay at work past dinner time, but of course, that wasn’t the case. They had to come home about fifteen minutes after Mycroft and him had gotten home. Sherlock had stayed in his room, not wanting them to see his bruises.

  Sherlock’s parents didn’t know anything about his situation at school. They knew that he was a bit of a loner, but they thought that he was still liked by a lot of students. And maybe that was true. Maybe Sherlock truly was liked by quite a few of his classmates. But, if he was, those students never really talked to him. He wasn’t sure why, but he never brought this up to his “friends” when they decided to actually talk to him. It didn't seem worth his time. His parents usually did act as though they cared about whether or not he had a lot of friends, but he knew that they would care about him getting bullied. If they ever found out about the bullies, he wasn’t sure how they would react, but he was sure that they would just make the situation worse. If Alex and his buddies found out that his parents contacted the school about the way they were treating their son, Alex would most certainly retaliate. And Sherlock would be the one that would suffer from that retaliation.

  The thought sent shivers up Sherlock’s spine. No. He could never tell his parents about Alex. He had to deal with this on his own. The thing was, he didn’t have any idea how he would do that. He hated confrontation, after all.   

**They will be worried about you though if they never see you come home. -Mycroft**

The message threw Sherlock out of his thoughts. He glanced from his laptop to his phone. He pursed his lips.   

**Well then think of something! -SH**

Sherlock tossed the phone onto his bed, annoyed with his brother. Why couldn’t he just deal with this situation for him? Was it really that difficult? He ran his hands through his curly hair and got up from his desk. He changed into his dark blue pajamas and crawled into bed, finished with the day. His phone buzzed again a few minutes later. Sherlock glanced at the screen, groaning softly.   

**Fine. But if I do this, you will have to figure out how to deal with those bullies. -Mycroft**

**I will. -SH**

He turned the lights off in his room and slid under the covers more, trying to get comfortable. He closed his eyes, and eventually, drifted off to sleep.    

 

 

  
  
***

 

 

  Five text messages. That was something that Sherlock was not expecting when he woke up the next morning. Especially not from this particular person. He sat up and looked through the texts, figuring that the boy would send more if he didn’t at least respond to one of the messages. His lips turned downwards as he processed the messages. 

 

**Sherlock. ~Victor.**

**Are you there? ~Victor**.   

**I’m sorry about Alex. -Victor.**

**You know that I couldn’t stop him. ~Victor.**

**I’m sorry, Sherlock. ~Victor.**

 

  Sherlock pursed his lips. How did he still have his number? He told him to delete it. He stared at the texts for several minutes, trying to figure out the proper response. He wanted to tell him to go crawl under some type of rock structure, but he figured that wouldn’t be the polite thing to do. And even though he didn’t like Victor, he knew that he couldn’t be rude to him. No matter what had happened between them.

**I know that you are.  Doesn’t change what your friend did, though. -SH**

He sent the text as soon as he finished typing it, not wanting to dwell on the message for too long. He put his phone on silent so he wouldn’t be able to tell when or if Victor texted him back. Now, that may be considered rude of him, but Sherlock had texted him back. So he already had done the right thing. He slid out of bed and changed into his school uniform before heading downstairs to eat something before class.

 

   ***  

Sherlock had been walking to his locker when he saw him. He was leaning against the locker next to his, arms crossed over his chest. Sherlock was tempted to turn around, but he knew that the other boy had already seen him. The other boy pushed himself off of the locker, frowning a bit.   

“You never texted me back,” the boy said.   

Sherlock strolled over to him, trying to act casual, but in reality, his palms were sweating. He opened his locker and put his ballet bag in it. The boy rolled his eyes.   

“You’re still doing that? Why? Don’t you realize that’s why Alex makes fun of you?”

  “Yes, actually, I am still doing ballet,” Sherlock snapped, turning towards the other boy.   

“But why?” The boy gestured to the now closed locker. “That’s why they make fun of you!”

  “Because I enjoy it. And if you are so distraught by their behavior, maybe you shouldn’t be friends with them, _Victor_.”   

Before Victor could think of something to say, Sherlock walked away. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat; that was the first time that he had ever said anything like that to Victor. He always thought that he’d just ignore his behavior, that Victor’s actions weren’t a big deal to him, but maybe he was wrong. He mentally shook his head, hoping to get the last five minutes out of his head.   

The tan wooden floors of the ballet studio helped Sherlock clear his mind. When he saw the floor glisten under the lights, he felt some tension dissolving from his shoulders. But that's the thing. It was only _some._ He let out a breath and shut the door behind him. He pressed play on his iPod, hoping to get lost in the music that surrounded him. This time though, he didn’t dance. Instead, he sunk to the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. He buried his face in his knees, hoping that the music would whisk him away to some better place.   

Unfortunately, that “better place” evaded him. It seemed to laugh at him-- to make fun of him for thinking that he could magically teleport to a different life. He pulled his knees closer to his chest. He tried to force himself to get up and dance, but he wasn’t in the mood. His body felt heavy, unmovable. Like a stone. He pursed his lips and combed through his memories, figuring that he could block out the memories of earlier if he couldn’t dance or daydream.

  So, instead of getting lost in the music, he got lost in his mind palace.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! I hope that you enjoyed it!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!

Sherlock hadn’t heard the person come in even though there wasn't any music playing in the small studio. So, when he felt a light tap on his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He glanced up at the person, his lips still slightly parted.

  “Wha—-” He began to say. He cleared his throat as he took in the person in front of him. “Why are you here?”

Sherlock stood up and took a small step away from his visitor. He silently cursed himself for exposing his hiding place. This was supposed to be his spot. One that no one could invade. Now this person came in like he owned the place. It wasn’t right.   

“You missed chemistry… I was—” John cut himself off, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “I was concerned,” he corrected himself. “..that you wouldn’t get your notes. You know… since you missed the class.”

  Sherlock’s eyes widened. He mentally kicked himself. He was in his mind palace for that long? If his parents found out that he’d missed class…. they’d ask questions. And then they’d ask even more questions when they saw the marks of the little incident he had with Alex the other day.

  “How did you find me? How did you know that I would be here?” Sherlock asked.

  John shrugged.   “Since you came here the other day, I figured that you might be here today. I wasn’t sure that you would be here, though.”

John frowned a little as Sherlock frowned. He bit his lip gently. Sherlock eyed him closely.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like that? Did I do something wrong?”   John asked, his lips turning downward.   
  
Sherlock stared at him. Wrong? What did he mean by wrong? Why was he concerned about that, anyways? John was popular. He had a ton of friends. He probably was always going to parties or hanging out with a friend. And even if he wasn’t always doing something “social”, someone probably always wanted to hang out with him. So… if that was the case, why would he care about someone like Sherlock? Sherlock was pretty much a nobody, after all. Well. He was at this school.   

John tilted his head.   “Sherlock?”

  Sherlock blinked, coming back to the present. He cleared his throat.   “I…I’m fine,” Sherlock managed to say, his voice quieter than normal.

  “Are you sure? You looked slightly…alarmed.”

  Sherlock nodded.

“Yes, I am fine, John. Just got lost in my thoughts for a few moments. So, do you have the notes for the class?”  

“Yes… that’s why I came here. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to copy them from me….that is, if you’re not using someone else’s notes already.”

  John blushed a little. He was never one to really stumble over his words, but here he was, fumbling over his words like a toddler just beginning to walk. Sherlock shook his head.   

“No…I’m not copying them down from anyone else.”  

John let out a small, almost invisible, sigh of relief.   

“Would you like to use mine, then?”  

Sherlock walked over to his book bag and slid it onto his shoulder. He bit his lip for a moment before responding, choosing his words carefully.  

“That would seem wise. Would you like to meet after school as well? We still have to work on the conclusion for the project.”

  The corner of John’s lip twitched upwards.

“Sure. Library, then? At six?”   

Sherlock nodded. “Precisely.”  
  
"Okay... anyways," he said, taking some paper out of his bag. "...here are the notes. You can give them back to me later."   
  
Sherlock took them hesitantly, still somewhat surprised that John was giving them to him. He tucked them into his book bag quickly.   
  
"Thanks."   
  
"Don't mention it."   
  
Sherlock stared at John for a moment before nodding to him and leaving the room, unsure of what else to say. 

 

 

     * * *

 

 

 

Thankfully, the day had passed without much incident. Victor had kept his distance from him for the rest of the day, and Alex seemed to be pleased with his “handiwork”, so he stayed away, too. Sherlock knew that he should’ve been happy that the day passed without any incidents, save for the one with Victor, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Alex would try to do something to him again soon. He wasn’t sure why he thought that, but the thought kept creeping up from the back of his mind, teasing him.   

He sucked in a breath and turned the page in this book that he was reading, hoping that it would distract him from his thoughts. He was situated in the library, in the little room that the library only seemed to give him. He knew that he probably wasn’t the only one who used the room, but he never saw anyone in it. He thought that the library kept it open just in case Sherlock felt like visiting the library.  

“Good book?” John asked, pulling Sherlock out of his thoughts.

  Sherlock glanced up at the boy in front of him. He was wearing a red “jock” jacket that was marked by his name and jersey number. It covered a navy blue button down shirt, which was tucked into a pair of dark jeans. His hair was slightly messier than usual, the only evidence that he had went to practice today.

  “Not really. I’m not really interested in the subject matter.”   

John stared at him for a moment, tilting his head to the side. He sat down across from him.   

“Then why are you reading it? We don’t have to read it for homework, do we?”

  Sherlock smirked and shook his head. He thought it would be amusing to tell him that they did have to read it for homework, just to see John’s reaction, but he decided against that.

  “No, we don’t. Just reading it for my own interests.”   

“Oh, okay… should we start the project, then? We just have to do the conclusion, yeah?”

  “Yes, only the conclusion needs to be written,” Sherlock said, closing his book. He opened his laptop before pulling up their project. “We should write two separate conclusions then we’ll either merge them together or we’ll use one or the other.”

  John stared at him, frowning.   “But isn’t that more work?”

  Sherlock smirked. That was what he had been waiting for. Some proof that he was like a jock. He probably wanted good grades, but he didn’t want to do the work that was needed in order to get a good grade.   

“Yes, it is more work, but we’ll get a higher grade if we do it this way.”  

 John frowned ever so slightly but nodded.   “Okay.” He opened his own laptop and booted it up. “Guess we should get to work then.”     
  
Sherlock didn't respond, because he was already typing on his keyboard, working on the conclusion. John stared at his hands for a moment, noticing the way they flew across the keyboard with grace. He bit his lip, wondering if Sherlock danced with that much grace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all those who have been reading this story. It truly means a lot to me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues.

They were working in silence until a deep rumbling sound sliced through the air, shattering the silence in an instant. Sherlock glanced up from his laptop, his gaze flicking to the boy who was sitting across from him. John was still typing on his laptop, lost in his little world. Well, Sherlock would have thought that, if John’s cheeks hadn’t turned a light shade of pink.   

“Sorry,” John mumbled, glancing up at Sherlock through his lashes. “Didn’t have a chance to eat after practice.”   

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. He couldn’t remember that last time he had eaten. He knew that he had eaten some time earlier in the day, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint as to when that was. He didn’t really like to eat when he was doing homework or dancing because the food seemed to either make his movements feel sluggish or it distracted him from his work.

“Did you bring any food with you?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head.

  John shook his head, frowning.   

“No, I didn’t have the chance. Normally I pack some before I leave the house… but today I was in a rush.. so it slipped my mind.”  

Sherlock felt the corners of his lips turn upwards. In a rush to get to school, no doubt. Once again, John failed to surprise Sherlock. Of course he was in a rush. He eyed John carefully, noting the way he had light purple bags under his eyes. Sherlock’s smirk grew. Seemed like John had slept through his alarm — he had had a late night before — and had to skip breakfast to get to school on time. Guess school wasn't as important to him as he liked Sherlock to think. John’s frown deepened.   

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

He shifted in his seat.   Sherlock blinked; he hadn’t realized that he had been staring.  

“No reason. Late night last night?”

  John’s lips parted as his eyes widened.

  “How did you know?”

  “You have bags under your eyes. And you said that you had to rush to get to school. Obviously you had a late night,” Sherlock said, his gaze flicking from John back to his laptop.   

John stared at him for a moment before responding.   “I had homework that I still had to do. I knew that I could put it off, but…” He scratched the back of his neck. “My mum doesn’t like it when I put off homework until the morning it’s due, so I had to do it last night instead.”

  Sherlock’s gaze jumped to John; his eyes widened a little. So… his work was important to him? Well of course it was important to him. John had come prepared for work the first time they met. If work wasn’t important to him, he would’ve just made Sherlock do all the work on the project. But John actually had wanted to do some of the work. Sherlock’s lips pressed together in a thin line; his gaze slowly ran down John’s face.   

“Is everything okay?” John asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

  “Yes,” Sherlock said quickly, forcing himself out of his thoughts. “Well, it is prudent to get homework done before it’s due.”

  John nodded.

  “I know. That’s why I tend to do it in a timely fashion.” He smiled and typed something, finishing the paragraph he had been working on. His stomach growled loudly. “Would… would you mind if we got something to eat?”   

Sherlock glanced at the time; he wasn’t sure why he glanced at the time since he wasn’t going to tell John no, but he wanted to know what time it was anyways. Maybe to make sure that he wasn’t eating at some odd hour of the night. He didn’t like to eat past a certain point because it often made him feel lousy the next day, and he had to be in his best form to do well in ballet.   

“Not at all. What do you want to get?”

  “Pizza. I feel like I haven’t had it in ages.”

  Sherlock nodded.

“Okay. There’s a pizza place around here that delivers. We can order from there.”   

“Really? They’ll deliver?” He glanced around, as if he was making sure that they were still at the library. “Here?”   

“Yes,” Sherlock said, unable to stop the smirk that pulled at the corners of his mouth. “They deliver. I’ve ordered from them before. And the library doesn’t care if people eat here as long as they don’t make a mess.”   

John slowly nodded. “So…what’s this place called?”   

Sherlock told him the name of the place as well as the restaurant's website. John pulled up the menu on his computer and pushed it in the middle of the table so they could both see. They bickered a bit over what they wanted to have — John was a very indecisive person when it came to pizza — but they eventually came to an agreement. John made the order online as Sherlock paid his half of the meal in cash.

Once the order was taken care of, John went back to work.   Sherlock watched John work for a moment, noting the way his fingers slowly danced across the keyboard. It was as if every word that he typed had some great importance. His tongue peeked through his lips, barely noticeable. Sherlock knew that he should get back to work, but he couldn’t seem to force his gaze away. It was odd; he didn't understand why he was watching John, but he was.

It wasn’t until a book dropped somewhere near them that Sherlock’s tore his gaze away from John. He cleared his throat and got back to work, his cheeks burning softly.   Each of them seemed to glance at each other while they waited for their food to come, one’s gaze flicking to the other's face for a few moments while the other wasn’t looking. After a few moments, the other would look at the other, their gaze slowly roaming from their hands to their face, or their face to their hands. Sherlock tried not to look, tried to focus on his work, but the work didn’t seem nearly as important as it once had. Finally, after about ten minutes of switching between work and watching John, he managed to focus just on his work. The slight burning in his cheeks from earlier seemed to be there, unwilling to fade away.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really feel like a broken record for saying this over and over again, but thank you so much for your continued support. It means a lot to me.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will this be the moment that the ice finally breaks between John and Sherlock?

John’s phone went off, shattering the silence that he and Sherlock had been drifting in for the last twenty minutes. Sherlock glanced up from his laptop to him.   

“That’s probably the pizza guy. We called twenty-five minutes ago, and it normally takes fifteen minutes to make pizza, and then ten minutes to deliver it. So, that should be him.”

  John’s eyes widened a bit. He checked his phone, shaking his head a few seconds later.

  “How did you know that it wasn’t a friend of mine?”   

Sherlock smirked and shrugged.   “You haven’t been texting anyone,” Well, if John had been texting anyone, Sherlock hadn’t noticed it. And Sherlock liked to think that he was observant, so he doubted that he had missed something like that. Mycroft liked to tell him that he needed to be more observant, but he ignored him a lot. He knew that he was plenty more observant than most people. Including John. “So… it would only make sense for the delivery boy to be texting you.”

  John’s cheeks turned a light red. He opened his mouth to say something, probably hoping to defend himself, but he just closed his mouth and got up instead.   

“I’ll be back with the pizza,” he muttered as he left.   

Sherlock smirked, pleased with himself; that had been an excellent deduction. Simple, but still excellent. If Mycroft had been there, he was sure that he’d be happy with Sherlock’s deduction. Well. He might've been. He may have just told Sherlock to try to make better deductions. Sherlock grunted at that thought. Mycroft was always suggesting that he should become a detective if the whole “ballet thing” didn’t work out. His older brother failed to realize that Sherlock was completely set on making his dream actually become a reality.   

“Pizza is here,” John said, coming back into the room with a large white box and a white bag on top.

Sherlock pushed some of his books aside so John could put the pizza down.

“Thanks,” John said, putting the box down.   

The taller boy simply nodded as he took the white bag off of the pizza. He opened it, revealing five breadsticks and some paper plates the pizza place had provided.

He gave one of the plates to John.   

“You first,” Sherlock said, gesturing to the pizza.

  John shook his head.   “No… you should go first.”

  Sherlock stared at him for a moment before shaking his head.   “No. You go first.”

  “But—”  

Sherlock eyed him, shaking his head. He didn’t understand why this was such a big deal. All he was doing was let him pick out the first slice of pizza, it wasn’t like he was letting him buy the last lottery ticket. John sighed and finally took a piece of the pizza. Sherlock followed suit, but unlike John, he took the smallest slice. John frowned at him.   

“Is that all you’re going to eat?” He asked, already a quarter of the way through his own slice.   

Sherlock’s gaze flicked to his pizza.

  “Yes, that was my plan.”   

“But….that isn’t very much.”   

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.   “Are you commenting on my eating habits, John?”   

John’s eyes widened as his cheeks burned. He shook his head quickly.  

“N-no, I’m not. Just was…asking.”   

Why did it matter how much he ate? As long as he ate something, wasn’t that all that mattered? And it wasn’t as if he was starving himself. He just wasn’t a big eater. Well. He supposed he could be a big eater, if it wasn’t for ballet. He tended to feel sluggish after he ate a big meal before ballet, so he decided to eat less during the ballet season.

  “I’m not a big fan of eating large meals when I’m working. It keeps me from doing my best work,” Sherlock said, taking a small bite of his pizza.   

John frowned a little bit.   

“But aren’t you hungry all the time, then?”   

Sherlock shook his head even though John was right; he was hungry a lot of the time. He had just learned to ignore it. He figured that food was something that he could sacrifice if it meant that he would have a chance to become a professional dancer. To most people, this logic wouldn’t make any sense, but for Sherlock, it made perfect sense. Food made him feel sluggish, when he felt sluggish he couldn’t dance well, so the only option for him was to eat less food.

  “Really?” John took a bite of his pizza. He chewed for a few moments before responding. “I feel like…well, if I ate as much as you did, I don’t think I’d be able to function.” John glanced down at his food before glancing at Sherlock, smiling softly. “Food is very important to me — I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t eat as much as I wanted.”   

Sherlock shrugged.   “I’m used to it.”

John finished off his slice of pizza and reached for another one. Sherlock pushed the box closer to him.

  “There are breadsticks too, if you want any,” Sherlock said, gesturing to the white bag that was still untouched.

  “Right.”

  John took two breadsticks for himself and pushed the bag towards Sherlock. Sherlock was tempted to have one, but he knew that he’d regret it. He was breaking his diet slightly by just having pizza.   He shook his head and pushed the bag back towards John. John frowned, but didn't say anything about Sherlock's lack of appetite.  
  
They seemed to fall into a silence, seeming to be completely content with it. With some people, Sherlock found the need to fill the air with conversation, but with John, he didn’t feel that pull. For some reason, John seemed… different. Maybe it was because John himself seemed okay with the silence. He would occasionally glance up at Sherlock and smile at Sherlock, but besides that, John seemed to focus on eating.    

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  A bit later, when the pizza was about halfway done — John had had quite a few slices— , John sat back in his chair and looked at Sherlock. His gaze meandered down Sherlock’s face, taking in the bruises that were still black and blue. Sherlock felt his eyes on the bruises, but he didn’t comment. He didn’t know what he could say. He certainly couldn’t tell him what had actually happened.   

“Do they hurt?” John asked softly, gesturing to one of the bruises.   

  “Not really… not anymore.”   

John nodded as he finished up typing something on laptop.   “Just was wondering… they look like they would hurt.”   

Sherlock shook his head.   

“No, not really.”

  John nodded, frowning a bit. He closed his laptop and put it in his bag.

  “You can take the pizza home, if you want,” Sherlock said, gesturing to the box. “My family’s not going to eat it.”

  John opened his mouth to protest, but he closed it before any words could come out. Sherlock pushed the box closer to him so he would be more likely to take it.   

“Take it,” Sherlock said, gesturing to it again. “Really… it’s fine. My family won’t eat it.”   

John sighed and picked the box up. He looked at Sherlock, frowning.  

“So will we meet tomorrow? To finish up the project?”

  Sherlock nodded. “Yes. But at my house.”

  John’s lips twitched a little, as if he was fighting off a smile.

  “Okay. I’ll meet you there, then.”   

He smiled at Sherlock before turning around, humming softly to himself. Sherlock watched him go, frowning, somewhat upset that their little project session had ended.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize in advance for this chapter being a bit shorter than the other ones. It isn't much shorter, but it is slightly shorter. I'm sorry for the smaller chapter! 
> 
> Even though it's shorter, I hope that you enjoy it.

Sherlock opened the door to the flat quietly, hoping not to make any sound. He had come home late, a little bit after his curfew, something he never broke. He may have not agreed with his parents all the time, but he respected them. He hated when he broke a rule. Well, unless that rule was, as his dad put it, “you’re not allowed to do ballet”. That rule he chose to ignore. 

He slipped into the foyer, trying to walk as quietly as he could to the stairs. He was carefully climbed the stairs, hoping that he wouldn’t make them creak at all. He smiled softly to himself as his bedroom came into view.   

“Late night, brother dear?” A voice rang out from next to him. 

He glanced in the direction of the voice;   his brother was leaning against the wall near the hall bathroom, twirling his umbrella in his hand. Yes, even at eleven thirty at night, Mycroft still carried that thing around. Sherlock groaned, just allowed enough for himself to hear.   

“I had to do homework, Mycroft. But that shouldn’t be any concern to you. I am back, which is all that matters,” Sherlock said, walking past him and into his room. 

  He tried to shut the door behind himself, but Mycroft pushed it open before he could. His older brother strolled into the room, shaking his head. The door shut quietly behind him.   

“And I thought that you were one that would always follow the rules. This is...a development.”   

Sherlock put his bag on a hook near the door, pouting. 

  “Get out, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, gesturing to the door.

  Mycroft chuckled and shook his head. 

  “Do you really think that you could get rid of me that easily, brother dear?” He shook his head, sighing. “And I thought that my younger brother respected me. Apparently my brother is turning into a goldfish.”

To most people, they would have thought that Mycroft was serious, but Sherlock knew that he was trying to get under his skin. He rolled his eyes.

  “What do you want, Mycroft? Do you need me to lie for you again so you can go to America?”   

Mycroft worked in England most of the time, but sometimes his superior made him travel to America so he could assist those who were on the United Nations. Mycroft never actually took part in the meetings at the UN, but he liked to think that he did. He always came home with these ridiculous stories about how he helped pass some law that would help restore peace in the world. Sherlock always rolled his eyes at that.   His parents, however, hated when Mycroft traveled. They said that he was too young to go abroad on a business trip. He was twenty-three, but they still didn’t view him as an adult. That’s partly why he stayed at their flat still. Sherlock had told him that he should move out so his parents would take him more seriously, but of course, his brother never listened to him.   Mycroft gave a tight smile. 

  “No, I don’t need you to do that, actually.” Mycroft walked over to Sherlock, frowning. “I just wanted to know where you were. As I said, it is unlike you to get home late on a school night. Very unlike you.” 

Sherlock glared at his older brother, puffing out his chest to make him look taller. Even though they were similar in age, Mycroft was a few inches taller than him. Sherlock often didn’t mind his height, but he often felt inferior to Mycroft because he was slightly taller than him. (And that didn’t include his personality. Some things about his personality made him feel inferior, too, but he hated delving into that).   

“That is none of your business, I believe, Mycroft.” Sherlock said, arms crossed over his chest.

He tried to stare at Mycroft in the way that he often stared at him.   Mycroft simply rolled his eyes, unamused by Sherlock’s tactics.   

“Yes, that is my business, Sherlock. Now stop acting like a child. I am not being rude to you. I am merely asking you a question. Now, please answer truthfully, brother dear.”   

Sherlock pursed his lips.

  “Would you rather me tell mother and father that you snuck into the house late? Or how you truly got those bruises?” Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.   

Sherlock glared at him at him for a moment before responding. 

  “I was at the library. Working on a project. It took longer than we thought.” Sherlock gestured to the door. “Can you please leave now? As much as I appreciate your company, I was rather enjoying being by myself before you came in here.”   

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow.   

“You were doing a group project? With who?”   

Sherlock let out an irritated grunt. Why couldn’t he let him be alone? All he wanted to do was shower and go to bed. Why was that such a difficult thing for his brother to understand?  

“Does it matter?”   

“Yes, I don’t want my brother’s grade to suffer because he’s paired with someone incompetent.”   

Sherlock opened his mouth to say yes, that he was paired with someone incompetent. After all, John didn’t seem to be as interested in the topic as Sherlock was, but he couldn’t really blame him for that. Chemistry projects rarely held his attention, either. He only did them because he was forced to do them. Mycroft tilted his head to the side, waiting for Sherlock’s answer. Sherlock glanced at him, biting his lip gently.

  “No, I’m not paired with someone incompetent. Now, may I go to bed?” 

  He may have thought that John Watson was incompetent at the beginning, but he had to admit, John Watson wasn’t incompetent. Every time they met, he always seemed to contribute something, and he didn’t complain about the work Sherlock assigned him. Well. He didn’t complain most of the time.   Mycroft raised an eyebrow.   

“Who is this fellow?”   Sherlock grabbed Mycroft’s arms and lightly shoved him towards his door.   

“Good night, Mycroft!” Sherlock said, pushing him out of the door. 

  Mycroft left the room, shaking his head. Sherlock shut the door behind him, his cheeks lightly pink not from the exertion, but from the thought of how John Watson looked at him the other day.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Your support really means a lot to me. (And I love opening up my email and seeing that people have left comments on this story. It helps me keep writing. :) )


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the continued support! 
> 
> Since the last chapter was a bit shorter, this one is longer. I hope that you enjoy it!

Sherlock went in the kitchen, humming a tune to himself, something he was known to do when he was deep in thought. No one was in the kitchen, save for Mycroft. He was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper.

  “You seem to be in a good mood this morning,” Mycroft said, not looking up from his paper.   

Sherlock opened one of the cupboards, still humming to himself.

  “Is it a crime to be in a good mood?” Sherlock asked, taking a roll and a pack of peanuts out of the cupboard.   He placed them on the kitchen counter before going over to the coffee pot.   

“No, but normally you are not in this type of mood at this time of day. Did you get a good night sleep? Or are you happy about seeing that…. John fellow today? I do assume that he’s in a class with you, seeing as you are working on a project together.”

  Sherlock’s cheeks turned a slight pink at the mention of John’s name. He wasn’t sure why he was blushing, but he couldn’t stop the pink from covering his cheeks. He poured some coffee into a thermos and put it next to his food. He turned towards Mycroft.   

“There is no rule that says that one cannot be happy in the morning. And for all you know, I could just be excited for ballet later.”

  He knew that he shouldn’t have said anything, that he shouldn’t encourage Mycroft, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Well, normally I’d say that you are looking forward to dancing, but you don’t hum when you’re excited for that.” He finally placed his newspaper on the table. His gaze slowly took in Sherlock’s face. “Yes, this is definitely not the doing of ballet. So, tell me, what is so great about this John?”

  Sherlock pursed his lips.   “That is none of your business. I will see you later, brother dear.”

  The younger brother scurried out of the kitchen with his breakfast before his older brother could notice that his cheeks had deepened in color. Sherlock ran out of the flat and into the car that was waiting for him. Sherlock let out a breath as he leaned against the seat. The car pulled way from the curb and entered the busy streets of London, leaving his annoying brother behind.

  Sherlock stared out of the window, his forehead pressing against the glass. A cloud of white fogged up the window. Sherlock watched London pass by, but he didn’t really register any of it. He gazed past the buildings, thinking about something else. Like what had happened in the library. He tried to lock the memory of yesterday evening away, but it refused to be put away. It seemed to like to dance around his mind, teasing him. Telling him that even though he may have a friend, that he may not actually have one.   Yes, John had been nice to him. But after this project, would he still be friends? Surely a jock like John had better things than to hang out with an outcast like Sherlock. Sherlock’s frown deepened; that’s what he was. He was an outcast. No matter how normal he felt sometimes, he knew that he didn’t belong at school. Soon, John would realize that, too. He would realize that he wasted his time with Sherlock; that he should’ve just made Sherlock do all the work. That’s all he was: he was just a way for John to get a good grade in the class so he could stay on the rugby team.   

The school came into view, successfully knocking Sherlock out of his train of thought. He bit his lip and slid away from the car door. Suddenly, he didn’t want to go to school. All he wanted to do was go back home and dance; to forget about the last week. He sighed.

  “We have arrived, Mr. Holmes,” the driver said as they pulled up to the school.

Sherlock nodded his thanks and got out of the car. He walked up the stairs that led to the school, his gaze on the ground. He thought that maybe if he kept looking down that no one would bother with him. Unfortunately, he was wrong.   Right as he turned down a hall that led to his locker, he heard the familiar snicker of the boys that he had learned to hate. He bit his lip and kept walking, hoping that they would’t bother him. Of course though, they couldn’t leave him alone. Why on earth would they do that? Sherlock was prime meat— an outcast, little friends, no one that would stick up for him.   Alex pressed his hand against Sherlock’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Now, it’s not very nice to ignore people, Sherlock,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought that you would have learned better manners by now. Guess I was wrong.”  

“Sorry,” Sherlock said automatically, genuinely meaning it. He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He glanced up at Alex.   

Alex smirked; his hand dropped from Sherlock’s chest.   “I have to say, I think the bruises add something to your face. They make you look more…” His gaze flicked over to his posse, as if he was waiting for them to complete his train of thought for him.   

“Sophisticated?” one boy asked, a boy that Sherlock didn’t even know was part of Alex’s group.

The boy certainly wasn’t part of the rugby team. If he was, Sherlock would have seen him before. The boy had short dark brown hair and brown eyes. While some of the other boys’ uniforms were a bit wrinkled, his looked perfectly pressed.   Alex stroked his chin for a few moments before nodding.

  “Yes… yes, sophisticated. Thank you, Jim.”  

Jim beamed, pleased with the little comment of praise. The lump in Sherlock’s throat grew.   

“I— I should put my stuff away, Alex,” Sherlock murmured, glancing down at the floor. “School is going to start soon. Don’t want to be late…” He trailed off, bitting his lip gently.

  “Are you telling me what to do, princess?”

  Sherlock took a small — almost unnoticeable— step back. He shook his head.   “No…I’m just… I’m sorry.”

  Alex’s gaze rolled down Sherlock’s face, taking in the damage that he had done the other day. He smirked a bit.   

“Well, you’re getting off easy today. I’m pleased with my work so I don’t want to ruin it. Run along now. If I see you again, you may not get off as easily.”   

Sherlock didn’t need to be told twice. He ran down the hall as quickly as he could, blocking out the laughter from Alex’s posse. He turned another corner, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He couldn’t see Alex again today. If he did, he knew that he wouldn’t be so lucky. He knew that he would hurt him. Sherlock ran down the next hall, not really paying attention to where he was going.   He kept running until he felt his body hit another body, sending both of them staggering backwards. Sherlock blinked the black spots out of his vision. The world was fuzzy; all of the lines seemed to blur together. He rubbed his eyes; the black spots slowly disappeared, revealing the person that he had just run into. Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat and everything that he was about to say to the person seemed to vanish.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another longer chapter. I hope that you enjoy it!

Sherlock stared at the other person, blinking rapidly. His cheeks deepened in color, turning a shade of red that he hadn’t realized his cheeks could turn. He ran a hand through his hair and took a small step back.   

“S-sorry,” he managed to say.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.   The other person shook his head, laughing a bit.   

“That wasn’t your fault, if anything, it was mine,” the person muttered. “Was on my phone.”

He bent down and picked up his phone that was laying next to a row of lockers. His gaze flicked back up to Sherlock. “My mum always tells me that I shouldn’t walk and text at the same time and I…well,” He shook his head. “…never listen to her. Guess I should start, huh? I mean, I almost knocked the wind out of you.”

  Sherlock tilted his head, surprised by how quickly the other boy spoke. The words flew out of his mouth quickly, as if he had just been caught doing something against the rules. The boy’s cheeks slowly turned a light pink.   

“…Sorry again. For running into you. I should’ve been more careful,” the boy said, still shaking his head.

  “It happens. I was running which, in hindsight, wasn’t the best idea.”   

The boy raised an eyebrow.   

“Why were you running?”

  Sherlock glanced away. His thoughts from earlier replayed in his mind, reminding him how John must view him. He shook his head. No, he couldn't tell him this. His gaze flicked to John, who was staring at him, waiting. He pursed his lips.   

“It isn’t important. I have to go. I will see you later, John.”   

Before John could say anything, Sherlock walked around him, making sure to stay out of his reach so he couldn’t grab him. He rushed down the hall, keeping his head down, hoping that John wouldn’t follow him.

 

And luckily, John didn’t.

 

 

    * * *

 

 

 

  Sherlock didn’t see John for most of the day, which was something that he seemed to be upset about and happy about all at the same time. He knew that people often had conflicting emotions, but he was never one of those people. He typically organized his emotions, focused on the one that seemed to be the most important at the time. But now… his emotions seemed to tackle each other, each one telling Sherlock to listen to it. The thing was, Sherlock didn’t know which one to listen to.   Each emotion told him something different. The happy part of him told him that he should just be happy that he hadn’t had to deal with John again, but the other part of him was annoyed. That part of him wanted him to go seek John out, to tell him that his rugby buddies weren’t all that they seemed to be. While that would probably be the smartest decision, Sherlock still wasn’t ready to talk to John about it. After all, he still barely knew the kid.

  He walked into the familiar quaint room that was lined with mirrors. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips as he turned on one of his favorite songs. He started on one side of the room, bending this way and that, doing movements that he had only dreamt about just a few years ago. He leapt across the room, his long legs stretching each way. He landed and immediately went into another combination. The music surrounded him, enveloping him, shielding him away from the world that existed outside of the room. Here, that world didn’t exist. Here, it was just him and the music and that was all that mattered.

  He wasn’t quite sure how long he danced for, but he didn’t care. For once, he didn’t care if he missed class, or if Mycroft yelled at him later for missing class. He wasn’t ready to go back to class; all he wanted to o was stay in this invisible world, one that no one seemed to know about.   His movements came to a halt when he heard the door shut. He blinked, thrown out of his movements. He froze and glanced at the person’s reflection in the mirror. The person was leaning against the wall, his mouth slightly open, as if he was stunned by the ballerino’s movements. Sherlock’s gaze narrowed.   

“What are you doing here? You know that this is supposed to be a…one person thing, right?” Sherlock asked, not understanding why this person always seemed to be in this room now.

Didn’t he have anything better to do? Like, play rugby or do homework or hang out with his friends? Like, couldn’t he do anything else instead of showing up in his room?   The boy frowned and took a step closer to the door.

  “You… well, you weren’t answering your texts, so I figured that you must be here.”

  Sherlock tilted his head and paused the music with the small remote he kept in his back pocket.   

“And did you ever think that I was ignoring you?” Sherlock asked before he actually thought about what he was saying.

In truth, he just hadn’t heard his phone go off. He always had it on vibrate, so naturally, he wouldn’t hear it go off while he was dancing.   The boy’s frown deepened; he scanned Sherlock’s face.   

“No. You weren’t ignoring me. You haven’t been ignoring me yet, so why would you start ignoring me now?” he asked softly.

  Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Fine. I wasn’t ignoring you, John. Are you happy now?”   

Instead of smiling, John frowned a bit more.

  “I didn't mean to upset you…” John said, taking a step forward to him. “Did I do something wrong?” He glanced around the room. “Besides… bothering you while you were dancing.”

  Sherlock wanted to say yes just so that John would leave him alone, but that wouldn’t be the truth. Normally, John didn’t bother him at all. There were only some things about John that bothered him, like how he was a rugby player, but he knew that he couldn’t exactly tell John that he should stop playing the game, even if he didn’t understand why the other boy liked to play it to begin with. The game seemed much to rough for his liking.   

“No… you didn’t do something wrong.” He said, turning back around to face the mirror.

He pressed play on the remote again before launching into a series of simple dance moves.   John stood in the corner of the room, staring at Sherlock with wide eyes. He bit his lip as Sherlock danced, watching how his body seemed to melt into every movement.

  “Is something wrong?” Sherlock asked, several minutes later, after he had finished doing his routine.

  John blinked and looked at Sherlock; he cleared his throat.

  “Oh…no. Sorry. You’re just…” He trailed off.

Sherlock frowned. Yes, this was it. John was going to tell him that he shouldn’t dance. That he was a freak for even liking to dance. That ballet was a girl thing, not a boy thing. That’s what they always said, anyways.   

“I’m just what?” Sherlock asked.

  The tips of John’s ears turned a light pink.   “Well… you’re really good, Sherlock. You… well, you’re incredible.”   

Sherlock stared at him with wide eyes. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to process what John had just said. Had he just…complimented him? He ran past John and took his iPhone out of the little loudspeakers he kept in the corner of the room.

“See you tonight,” Sherlock said, tucking his phone into his pocket.   He ran out of the room without looking back at John, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter, and thanks for your continued support! It truly means a lot to me.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!

Sherlock picked up his bag as he let out a large breath. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, marking it, staining it. His normally pale cheeks were bright red. He slung his bag over his shoulder and nodded to one of his friends, letting him know that he was leaving. “Friend” may not have been the right word, but the person was the only real friend he had grown somewhat close to while he danced. The boy nodded to him as Sherlock turned around to leave. 

  After Sherlock had rushed out on John earlier, he had called Mycroft’s driver and told him to pick him up. He was going to tell him to take him home at first, but then he realized that if he headed straight to dance, he would get there much earlier than he normally did. So, he decided to do that instead. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually got to dance early.

His teacher had been happy with him for once; she said that she admired his commitment to the sport and that she could see “big” things in the future. He hoped that she wasn’t just being nice to him when she said the last part. He knew that he wanted to be a professional dancer, and that he would be one, but he didn’t want any false praise. If she honestly thought that he would never become one because of his lack of ability, he would want her to tell him. Not that he was lacking any ability. Sherlock knew that he had at least  _some_ talent.

Sherlock went outside and sat on the curb, waiting for Mycroft’s car. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up a bit. He took a large swig of water from his purple water bottle that had the ballet’s school logo on it. He looked at it, wondering what John would say about it. Would he say that he was stupid for having a souvenir from a ballet school? Or would he like it?

 He bit his lip. Of course he would like it. Why wouldn’t he like it? He had danced in front of him and he hadn’t scolded him or made fun of him. But, that was completely different. Dancing and having a light purple water bottle were two completely different things. The water bottle showed how far his obsession, if you would want to call it that, went. If John saw it, he may just laugh in Sherlock's face. A shiver ran up Sherlock's spine. No, he would never show him the water bottle. 

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as his thoughts wandered. He had truly expected John to yell at him earlier. He thought that he would call him a freak and leave. But, he didn’t. Instead he told him that he was a good dancer. That he was talented. He hadn’t actually said that he was talented, but he knew that’s what he meant. And the thing was, John wasn't even joking when he said it. He kicked a pebble on the ground. Did John actually think that he was talented?   

There was a honk next to him, sending him out of his thoughts. He glanced up and saw a black car next to him. He smiled softly and got into the car, ready to go home. The driver asked him where he wanted to go before he pulled away. Sherlock told him and glanced around the car, expecting to see his annoying older brother sitting in one of the seats. Luckily, Mycroft seemed to have too many other things to do besides ride in a car with his younger brother. Sherlock yawned, exhaustion from the day suddenly taking over.

  “Take the long way home, please,” he said, as his eyes slipped close.

  Sleep danced around him before pulling him under, whisking him off to another world.  
  
  
                                                                                                                       ***

 

When he woke, the car had just pulled in front of his family's flat. The driver told him that they had arrived, as if Sherlock couldn’t see that for himself.   

“Thanks,” he muttered as he got out of the car, shaking his head a bit to himself.

Why did everyone act like he was a child?   Okay, maybe he was overreacting a bit. He knew that the driver was just doing his job, but he wasn’t in the mood to really be around anyone. All he wanted to do was dance, but he couldn’t since John was coming over. His steps faltered a bit. He glanced at his watch. An hour. He had an hour to try to get the place ready before he came over. Not that there was much to get ready, but he wanted to put some snacks out just in case John wanted to eat, which he assumed he would.   He walked into the building and over to the elevator. He pressed the button for his floor and glanced up at the screen that showed him what floors they passed.

He bit his lip, wondering what snacks John would want. Would he want hot snacks? It was still only October, but it was quite cold outside, which made Sherlock think that he’d want to warm up with a snack. Or would he really care? Sherlock mumbled to himself. Why was this so difficult? All he was doing was picking out snacks. Not like he was trying to make some new drug that made dogs talk. He padded into the flat and went upstairs to his bedroom to drop off his bags and shower.

  Once he was showered, he changed into a navy blue suit with a light grey button-up and black tie. He normally didn’t like to wear ties — they choked his neck—- but this seemed like it was the right occasion to wear one. Well. Maybe it was. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he wanted to look presentable. Not that he didn’t always look presentable, but he wanted to look more presentable than usual. His mother always told him that looking nice was important when one was interacting with others. At the time he asked him that he would always be “interacting” with others and that her argument didn’t make any sense, but now he understood what she meant.   He picked some of the lint off of his shoulders and smoothed out the front of his suit jacket, wanting to make sure that the suit looked nice. 

He went to the kitchen, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He glanced at his watch. John would be here in twenty minutes. He sucked in a breath; had that much time passed already? It seemed like there should’ve still been the better half of an hour left. He sighed and rummaged through the cupboards, hoping that he’d find something that John would like.   He wasn’t quite sure why he cared if John liked him or not, but he did. He didn’t want him to turn out like the others. He wanted him to see that he wasn’t a freak. That, yes, he might be odd, but not odd enough for him to not want to be friends with him. After all, when was being odd such a bad thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I hope that you enjoyed it!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to Sherlock's flat again.

He should’ve expected this. Truly, he should have. Why wouldn’t Mycroft want to make him worry about his meeting with John even more than he already was? That’s what older brothers thrived on, wasn’t it? Sherlock went turned on the tea kettle while taking two mugs out of the cupboard. He didn’t have any idea if John would want tea, but according to his brother, “good tea symbolized a welcoming home”. He didn’t believe him, but he was a bit too nervous to truly argue with him over it.  

“Mycroft, could you once just leave me alone?” Sherlock asked, opening up the oven to check on the biscuits he had put in there to get warm.

  “No, I cannot, actually. Seeing you like this…” Mycroft’s gaze quickly took in Sherlock— how he was practically bouncing off the walls and acting as if this was the most important meeting that he had ever been to. “… is most enlightening. You do realize that this John fellow is nothing more than another person, correct? This behavior is not needed. He is a goldfish, Sherlock.”

  No. John wasn’t a goldfish. If he had been a godlfish, Sherlock would have never worried about what John thought. He would’ve just done the project by himself and called it a day. No, John Watson was different. Well, Sherlock hoped that he was different.   

“You are judging him without meeting him, Mycroft.” Sherlock took the biscuits out of the oven and put them on a plate. He placed it on the kitchen table.

  “Maybe I will just have to meet this fellow then. Judge him for myself. Maybe you are right… maybe he isn’t a goldfish.” He sighed and shook his head as Sherlock ran over to the stove to turn it off. He poured the water into a large tea kettle before placing two tea bags in it. “…Do you honestly think John will care if you make him all of this or not? You are just finishing up a project. Nothing more. If you wanted, he could be out of your hair within ten minutes.”

  Didn’t Mycroft realize that he knew that? Didn’t he realize that Sherlock knew that he could’ve just done the whole project to begin with and just have given John credit for half of the work? But he didn’t do that. Because John Watson was different. Again, he didn’t really understand why he was different, why he acted in a way that made Sherlock feel differently than he normally did, but he wasn’t in the mood to question that. Not now, anyways.   

“Yes, brother dear. Thank you for that input. Now, would you please leave? He’ll be here—”  

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Sherlock’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Mycroft glanced at the door.

  “I think I’m going to get that.”   

Sherlock smoothed out the table cloth that he had placed on the table. His eyes widened at Mycroft’s words.

  “No, Mycr—,” he said, but it was already too late.

Mycroft was strolling to the door, humming softly to himself.   Sherlock ran into the office and peeked through the crack between the doorway and the door, hoping that Mycroft didn’t scare John off.  Mycroft strolled over to the door, smiling softly. Sherlock shook his head—of course he was smiling. He was going to meet the only person that Sherlock liked. Well, Sherlock had liked a few people, but… this was different. At least, it felt different. Again, he couldn’t quite explain why it felt different. Maybe it was because, at some level of him, Sherlock wanted John to be different than the other people he had met. He wanted John to like him.

  “Oh, is Sherlock home?” A voice asked; Sherlock blinked and glanced back through the crack. John glanced around Mycroft, into the flat. “Sherlock does live here, right?”

  Mycroft smirked a bit.   

“Yes, you have the right place. Please, come in Mr. Watson.”   

John blinked several times, as if trying to process how the man at the door could possibly know his name.

  “How do you know my name?” John asked, walking into the flat. He turned to Mycroft. “Who are you?”

  Sherlock fought the urge to leave the office and pull John away from Mycroft, but he also wanted to know how John would react to his older brother, especially since he was a bit odd as well. (Well, he was more than a bit odd but that was another story.)   Mycroft folded his hands in front of him.

  “Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock’s older brother.”   From his little position behind the door, Sherlock saw John’s eyes widened. Not very much, but he noticed it; he was sure that Mycroft did, too. Mycroft chuckled.   “Is that a problem?”

  “No, I just…” John rubbed his arm. “…didn’t know that Sherlock had an older brother.”   

Mycroft smiled, but it came out more as a grimace.   “Yes, he doesn’t like to talk about me. He likes to pretend that I don’t exist to most people.”  

 John frowned, but didn’t press the subject any more. He glanced around the flat again.

  “So… is Sherlock home?”

  “Yes, he should be here shortly. Nice to meet you, John.”   Mycroft turned on his heel and walked away, finished with the conversation.

Sherlock let out a small breath, relieved that Mycroft’s interrogation wasn’t as nearly as bad as he expected it to be. He opened the door of the office and walked out, yawning.  

“Sorry about that, John. I had to finish emailing someone,” Sherlock lied easily.   

John turned to Sherlock; a small smile came across his face.

  “That’s…fine. Why didn’t you tell me that you had a brother?” He asked, glancing around Sherlock to see where Mycroft had strolled off to.  

Sherlock shrugged.

  “He gets on my nerves and I deal with him enough in person, so I don’t really like to talk about him. Why?”  

John shrugged.   “Just was curious… anyways, should we get started? I know that we’re almost finished with the paper, but we should edit it after we finish the conclusion.”   

Sherlock blinked; he nodded slowly.   

“Yes, we should. Come along, John.”   

He turned around and headed down the hall, gesturing for John to follow him. He went into the kitchen, flicking on some more lights so they could see better. He took a seat at the kitchen island, biting his lip gently, his gaze on John. He studied him closely, wishing that he could read thoughts. That way, he could know if John was…well, what he thought he was, or if he was something that he swore that he would never get involved with again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Also, thank you for your continued support.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting! Here's the next chapter!

 About an hour later, the boys found themselves still sitting at the kitchen island, staring at their laptops. John was typing away at his screen, making corrections here and there. Sherlock, on the other hand, was staring at his screen with headphones in. A silhouette of a dancer flashes across the screen, performing movements that Sherlock dreamed about being able to do. He sighed softly, frowning.   

John glanced up to grab a biscuit, hoping that the small snack would help fend off the hunger that was starting to claw its way into his stomach. He nibbled on a corner of it, his gaze on Sherlock. He stared at him for a moment, taking in his expression. The corners of his mouth twitched downwards.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked. “Did I type something wrong?”   

About twenty minutes ago, John had sent Sherlock his part of the essay so he could go over it and make any necessary changes while he edited it as well. Sherlock’s gaze flicked to John; he took his earbud out.

  “What did you say?” Sherlock asked.   

“You…” John glanced down at his laptop for a moment before looking back at the dancer. “Well, you were frowning. I just didn’t know if it was because of something that I typed.”   

Sherlock blinked and shook his head.   “Not in the least.” He gaze shifted from John to the screen to John again. A light pink rose into his cheeks. “Just was…distracted by something, that’s all.”  

 John bit his lip, as if he was biting back a question. Sherlock sighed and glanced back down at the screen.

  “If you have a question, John, please enlighten me with it. No need to act all…. constipated.”  

“Constipated? How am I acting constipated?” John asked, blushing furiously.   

Sherlock waved a hand.

  “Just your posture. Now, if you have a question, please ask it.”   

Sherlock wasn’t trying to be rude. He truly wasn’t. All he wanted to know was why John was looking at him like he was some stray dog that he wasn’t allowed to touch. He actually quite enjoyed it when people asked him questions, especially since not many people did. His parents asked him questions, but that was another story. They had to ask him stuff— it was part of their job.   

“Well…what are you distracted by?”   

Sherlock’s eyes widened; he ran a hand through his hair, hoping to regain his composure. He shook his head.   “It isn’t important.”   

“But if it wasn’t important, it wouldn’t have distracted you from your work.”

  “My work?” he raised an eyebrow.   

“The project, remember?” John asked. “You know, the reason why we’re here.” He gestured around the room.   

Sherlock blinked and nodded.   “Oh, right, the project. Yes, you see, I finished that about…” He glanced at the tiny clock in the corner of his screen. “Fifteen minutes ago now.”

  “And you didn’t think that it would be a good idea to tell me?” John asked, his tone surprisingly sharp.   

Sherlock winced a bit. This was it. This was the beginning of the end. He could see it unraveling now: John would get so upset that he would walk out; he would tell Sherlock that he was a freak and that he never wanted to hang out with him again. He would say that Sherlock should’ve worked on the project from the beginning and have just put John’s name on the top of the page so he could get credit for doing the project. Sherlock closed his laptop a bit and looked up at John, frowning.

  “I didn’t think that it would be important. You seemed like you were busy making corrections anyways,” Sherlock said, stretching.   

John ran a hand through his short hair and sighed. 

“Well, you should’ve told me instead of just doing whatever you’ve been doing for the last fifteen minutes.” He bit his lip gently. “So are you going to tell me what you were looking at? Or do you want me to guess?”   

Sherlock pursed his lips. Why was it so important? Why did he need to know what he was looking at? He watched him for a moment before looking down at his laptop. He opened his mouth to say what he was looking at, but nothing came out. He opened the laptop up and shoved it towards John, letting him see what was on the screen. As soon as he pushed the laptop to him, he wanted to snatch it back, and run away. A soft red colored his cheeks.   John looked down at the laptop; a small smile tugged at his lips.   

“Ballet? You were looking at ballet performances?” He asked, his tone somewhat tense. “Instead of doing work, you were looking at this?” he gestured to the laptop. “And here I was thinking that you were doing something that at least helped us finish the project.”   

Sherlock winced a little bit.   “I already reviewed the paragraphs you sent me, John. I told you this. Why are you acting as though I didn’t do that?”   

“Because you didn’t send them back to me! You could have at least told me that you were done with the project before you went off and watched…” He trailed off, his gaze finding the screen. A boy in a navy blue costume, paused in a certain ballet position, was in the center of the screen. John blinked and gently pushed the laptop towards Sherlock. “…just please send me the corrections,” he almost whispered.   

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, eyes wide. What had just happened? He slid his laptop back over to himself.

  “Of..of course, John,” he said just as softly, his voice refusing to go any louder. He saved the document again and sent it to John. “There you go.”

  “Thanks,” John said, his gaze flicking from Sherlock back to his own computer screen.

  “What do you think?”   

John’s gaze flicked up to him.   “What?”   

“About the corrections, John. What do you think of them?”   

“Oh,” John mumbled. He peered down at his laptop, reading over the corrections Sherlock had made. “That…that sounds better. Thanks.”

  Sherlock nodded and got up.

  “Is that everything, then?” Sherlock asked, looking down at John.   

“What do you mean?”

  “Well… that completes our project, John. We had to finish the conclusion today, and that’s exactly what we just accomplished.”  

“Oh…right.” He glanced at his laptop. “Guess we have finished it, huh?”   

Sherlock nodded a bit. The ballet dancer closed his laptop, sighing softly. John watched him; a frown tugged at his lips.   

“That’s what you want to do, isn’t it? Be a ballet dancer?”   

The question wasn't rude, but it made Sherlock tense up. Things always went downhill after he responded to that question. He wanted to respond though. He wanted to tell John that he wanted to be a dancer, but he couldn’t. Some part of him was holding him back, telling him to protect the one part of him no one could harm.  

 “I think you should leave now,” Sherlock said tersely, gesturing the the door.   

John frowned deeply.   “What do you mean?”   

“You heard me, John. Please leave.”   

To cut the conversation short, and to avoid any unneeded words, Sherlock left the room, leaving John alone in the kitchen. He ran up to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He leaned against the door as he ran his hands through his curly hair. Please leave, John, he thought to himself, sinking to the floor, wishing that John had never asked that question.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter! I hope that you enjoyed it!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy it!

 Sherlock sat on the other side of the door, knees drawn up to his chest, waiting for John to leave. It had been fifteen minutes and he still hadn’t heard any of the doors shut, which made him think that John may not have left yet after all. Which he didn’t understand. Sherlock had left him downstairs, all by himself. Why on earth would he stay?   Sherlock pressed his head against the door, straining to hear footsteps.  
  
A few minutes later, he heard footsteps. Sherlock pressed his ear against the door even more. Maybe, just maybe, John was finally leaving. Maybe he had given up on Sherlock and decided to leave. Sherlock sucked in a breath, as if that would have an impact on John’s decision as to whether he left or stayed. Of course, he knew that his actions did not have any impact on John’s decision, but that didn’t stop him from acting like they did.   The stairs creaked; Sherlock’s eyes widened. No. Was John coming upstairs?  
  
The creaks got louder, echoing off of the walls upstairs. Why was he coming this way? The ballet dancer had left him alone. He should’ve left after he did that. Most people would have, anyways. Sherlock swore under his breath, something he never did, when a knock echoed off of his bedroom door.

  “Sherlock?” John asked. “You in there?”   

Sherlock took a small step away from the door. He sat on his bed, refusing to answer. He would not encourage John’s behavior. No, John had to leave. As soon as possible.   

“Look…Sherlock, I know that you’re in there. If I upset you… which I know that I must’ve... I didn’t mean to.” He paused for a few moments. Sherlock stared at the door, waiting for John to continue. “Anyways… yeah. I guess that’s all. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Sherlock raced to the door before he could stop himself. He flung the door open, revealing a retreating John.

  “John?” Sherlock asked, stopping about a foot outside of his bedroom.   John turned around; the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.   

“Look, Sherlock… I’m sorry for upsetting you. I didn’t mean to.”

  Sherlock blinked. And blinked. And blinked. His brain whirled, trying to process John’s words. John was sorry? He was actually sorry? Those were words that he had never expected to hear. He thought John would just leave, never knowing that he had hurt him. John cleared his throat, snapping Sherlock out of his little haze.

  “You are?” Sherlock whispered.

  John took a step forward, smiling softly.

  “Of course I’m sorry. My reaction wasn’t…appropriate.” He glanced at his feet. “I was being insensitive.” His gaze shifted back to Sherlock. “You know that there’s nothing wrong with doing ballet, right?”   

Sherlock chuckled despite himself.  

“Yes, I know. That’s…well, that’s what I’ve always believed. But people tend to have other thoughts about it. Thoughts that you…kind of expressed earlier.”

  John took another step forward, closing the distance between he and Sherlock some more.   

“Well, I wasn’t thinking. And I… I actually think that ballet is pretty neat.”

  Sherlock’s face lit up. John didn’t think that ballet was odd. He actually thought that it was interesting. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.   

“Yes, well…I think so, too... obviously." 

  John’s gaze slowly rolled down Sherlock’s face, taking in his features. Sherlock tilted his head; his eyebrows furrowed.   

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

  John’s eyes widened; he cleared his throat.

  “Oh…” His cheeks turned bright red. “No… no reason. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sherlock.”   

Before Sherlock could really process what was happening, John was running away, going down the stairs. Sherlock watched him go, frozen in place, unable to stop him. The door shut behind John; Sherlock blinked, the sound breaking him from his haze. He frowned at the door, not understanding why John had ran away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter is shorter than others. The other one will be longer, promise! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot stress enough how much I appreciate all of your support. Without you guys, I would not feel so inspired to continue on with this story. Thank you so much for reading it, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

Around lunch time the next day, Sherlock was heading down to the dance studio that his school had to place in an area of the ground floor that was difficult to get to. He was glad that it was out of the way, but sometimes, he wished that whoever designed the building just put the studio near a classroom. It was study hall, so like usual, he wanted to dance instead of do homework. He turned down an almost empty hall, humming a tune that he would be dancing to later, completely in his own world. Someone in the hall glanced at Sherlock; he paused as a small smile tugged at the corners of their mouth.   

“Heading to the studio?” the person asked softly, successfully breaking any type of haze Sherlock had managed to conjure.   Sherlock blinked and looked at the boy next to him.

  “John! It is not nice to sneak up on people like that."

Even though he was upset that John had halted his train of thought, he had to admit that he was pleased to see the other boy. John rolled his eyes and fell into step with the dancer.   

“Well, are you?”

  “Am I what?” He glanced at John, his eyes narrowing.   

“Are you going downstairs to…you know?”

  If someone had been listening in to their conversation at that very moment, they would have thought that maybe Sherlock was up to no good. But, luckily, anyone who would come to that sort of conclusion was no where to be found.   

“Yes, I am…. why?”   

Pink painted across John’s cheeks; he glanced down at his feet.

  “Well, I was wondering… could I watch?”   

Sherlock’s eyes widened. What? John wanted to watch him dance? But… didn’t he have anything better to do? Like hang out with his jock buddies? He stared at John, unwilling to believe that he had heard him correctly.  

 “Is that a problem?” John asked gently.

  They turned down another hall before heading down some stairs that led to the studio. Sherlock bit his lip.   

“No… but you have to promise me that you won’t make any comments about my performance until afte I finish my routine. I don’t like to be interrupted when I dance.” And you, John, seem to always interrupt me while I’m dancing, he added silently.

  John nodded.

  “Of course. You won’t even know that I’m there,” he said, smiling.  

Sherlock sighed but nodded. He stepped into the studio, leaving the door open for John. He was about to tell John to close the door behind him when the other boy closed and locked the door for him. John took a seat in the corner of the room, out of Sherlock’s way. Sherlock went over to the speakers, trying to ignore John’s gaze. Even though he had been watched before, this was different. Most of the time he danced in front of family members or for strangers. But John… well. He didn’t know what John was. But he certainly wasn’t either of those things.   John watched eagerly as Sherlock walked to the center of the studio. He took his position and waited for his cue.   

 

***  

 

 

“Incredible,” John said, watching the ballerino with wide eyes as he finished his performance.

  Sherlock came to a halt in the same position he began in, his back to John. He glanced at John’s reflection in the mirror, his lips parted slightly.   

“You really think so?” he asked softly. He clicked a button on a remote; the music clicked off.

  “Yes, I do. Why wouldn’t I?” His eyebrows knitted together.

  “Just… some people don’t agree. They think that it’s odd for someone like me to pick up dancing.”   

“Someone like you?” John asked, not understanding what Sherlock was saying.   

“A male, John.”   Sherlock sighed and brushed past John, shaking his head.

Not everyone thought that only girls could do ballet, but most people did. They thought that if a male did it passed a certain age that that was odd, and that they should concentrate on the “important” things, like maths or science. While Sherlock thought those two subjects were interesting, he had no intention of pursuing a career in either.   Sherlock slipped his ballet shoes off and tucked them back into his purple bag. He zipped it shut before sliding it onto his back.   

“But… of course men can dance.”

  “I realize that, John, seeing as I am a dancer and all,” Sherlock said, putting his bag back down again.

He had forgotten to put on his jacket.   John’s eyes widened ever so slightly. He took a step towards Sherlock.

  “That’s why you have the bruises, isn’t it? Those are from people who thought that it was odd that you danced. They…” He bit his lip. “…they bullied you because they don’t understand why you would dance. They make fun of you… for dancing.”   

Sherlock’s back went rigid. He let out a breath as he slid his jacket completely on. He tugged his bag back over his shoulder, pulling it closer to him.   “It doesn’t matter, John.”

  John threw his hands up in the air in frustation.   “Of course it does!”

  Sherlock turned to John, a frown painted across his face. If John knew who did this to him, he may not be saying the things that he was saying. He may have been defending his rugby buddies instead.   

“No one deserves to be bullied, Sherlock,” John whispered. He took a small step towards Sherlock.   

“Yes, well, tell those to the people that punched me,” Sherlock muttered as he glanced at the floor. “I’ll see you later, John. Don’t worry about my face. It’ll heal.”   

Sherlock, surprisingly, left in a worse mood that he came in with. He left the room with his shoulders tense, his gaze on the ground. He hurried out as quickly as he could, trying to ignore John's gaze. He rushed around a corner and leaned against the wall once he was certain that he was away from John. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes and focused on his breathing, hoping to calm his racing heart.   After a few moments of focusing on his breathing, Sherlock pushed himself off of the wall, and went to his next class, hoping that he wouldn’t run into John again. He didn’t want to continue that conversation. All he wanted was to go home and never have to go back to school. That way, he wouldn’t have to face John Watson again.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Sherlock and John continues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the delayed posting! Please know that more chapters are on their way, and thank you for your continued support. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

 Sherlock was sitting in the car, staring out the window, trying to keep his thoughts away from a certain topic. That topic was not one that he liked to think about, but then again, it seemed like it was the only thing that his mind wanted to think about. He didn’t understand. Before this, he didn’t have any trouble with organizing his thoughts. He didn’t have any problem with pushing some thoughts away and locking them in a room in his mind palace that he wouldn’t be able to find again, unless he for some reason, really wanted to think about whatever he locked away.   But, why then, didn’t that apply to this? Why on earth couldn’t he just shove these thoughts away and never think about this certain...thing again? He pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair, hoping that the simple motion would stop Mycroft from looking at him like he was an animal about to pounce on anything that moved.

  “Brother dear, you look most uncomfortable,” Mycroft said, twirling his umbrella in the palm of his hand. “I would say that you always look uncomfortable when you’re in the car with me, but this is odd, even for you.”   

Sherlock shot a glare at Mycroft.

  “I’m not in the mood for games, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, annoyance radiating off of him.   

“I was not playing any game,” Mycroft said, his gaze scanning Sherlock carefully. “This is about that John fellow, isn’t it? That’s why you look like you’re constipated.”   

Sherlock went rigid at the word “constipated”. Not too long ago, he had said the exact same thing to John. Now he understood why John had been so upset by the term. He shot Mycroft another glare.   

“No, this isn’t about him.”   

Even though, clearly, it was about John. Everything seemed to be about John these days. If he wasn’t working on a project with John, he was planning on when he would meet with John. And if he wasn’t physically with John, he was thinking about John. He didn’t understand; why was John so different? Why couldn’t his mind just stop thinking about him?   

“Clearly it is, Sherlock. Clearly this boy is causing you problems. I would say that he personally was causing you these problems, but we both know that he isn’t.”   

Sherlock pursed his lips. In an ideal world, he would tell Mycroft that John was personally causing him these problems, but the truth was was that he wasn’t. This was all on Sherlock. This was all Sherlock’s fault. If his mind would just shut off, and stop thinking about John, Sherlock would be perfectly fine. But, it seemed as though his mind was staging its own rebellion, telling Sherlock that John Watson was somehow worth thinking about.   The car pulled over in front of a tall building. Sherlock gave a small sigh of relief, glad that he didn’t have to continue the conversation that he was having with his brother any longer. He threw the door open and hurried out of the car, into the building, away from the conversation he had been engaged in. Maybe, if he ran fast enough, he would be able to stop thinking about John Watson, too.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Most of the afternoon passed without any incident, which was odd, but Sherlock supposed that it was a good thing. If someone asked Sherlock though about the afternoon, he would have said that it was boring and dull. Since John and him didn’t have to meet for the project — he had handed in the paper earlier in the day — he didn’t have their “appointment” hanging over his head. So, that freed up a lot of time in his afternoon and evening. It was odd. He kept expecting John to knock on his door and tell him that they had to work on their project some more, but no knock came.   Until later that night, that is.   

Sherlock was peering over his history textbook, muttering to himself about how the people and dates that compiled his textbook weren’t important if he had to memorize them. If these people had done something so spectacular, humans everywhere — at least the humans in Europe — should know who these people were. They shouldn’t have to memorize things about them.   He turned the page and ran a hand through his hair. If you do this, you get to dance later, he told himself, hoping to motivate himself. The exam wasn’t for a few more days, but since Sherlock had extra time, he thought it would be a good idea to get a jump start on his studying, something he didn’t often do. But, history was not his strong point, so he thought that he should work on it a bit more than usual.

  His phone buzzed next to him right as he memorized one of the things that a colonel did during some war that didn’t seem important to him. He glanced at his phone.

**I would come up but I know that you dislike it when I enter your room without permission. -Mycroft**

**Or while you’re studying. -Mycroft**

**Anyways. John is here. He comes with gifts.-Mycroft**

  Sherlock read the texts quickly, frowning. What on earth was John doing here? Didn’t he have something else to be doing? Like practicing for some rugby game? He thought that there was a big one coming up this weekend since people in school kept talking about the parties they wanted to go to after the game.   Sherlock poised his thumbs over some keys, ready to tell Mycroft to send John home. After all, Mycroft was older than him— he should deal with this sort of thing. His phone buzzed again, indicating a new text. 

**And he refuses to leave before he sees you.  Shall I send him up?  -Mycroft**   

Sherlock groaned. Of course John had to be stubborn. He sighed and texted his older brother.   

**Send him up. -SH**   

He slid his phone onto the desk, shaking his head, frustrated by the fact that John thought it would be a good idea to come to his flat randomly. With gifts, apparently, as well. Didn’t he realize that he didn’t have to come around anymore? That they had kind of… parted ways after the project? Parting wasn’t something Sherlock exactly liked the thought of, but he had come to terms with it. After all, John was busy. He had more important things to worry about than his little outcasted friend.   

Sherlock leaned against the back of his chair and pressed the palm of his hands to his eyes. His stomach did a little flip despite his feelings about the situation. Part of him couldn’t believe that John had actually come to his flat without being invited — something people never did, and then part of him wanted to yell at him for doing something so silly.   He dropped his hands from his face, sighing. He stared at the door, trying to patiently wait for John Watson to knock on his door.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues. John visits Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what gifts does John have? Well. You'll find out in this chapter!

A few seconds later, there was a loud knock on his door. It seemed louder than a normal knock. Sherlock wasn’t sure if it was only louder because he had imagined it being louder, or if John had actually hit the door harder than he normally did. He got up and opened the door, revealing a John Watson holding a tray of baked goods. Sherlock scanned the tray, frowning.

  “What are those?” Sherlock asked, pointing to the goods that laid on top of the tray. 

“Cupcakes,” John said, blushing softly.   

Sherlock blinked.   “Why are you carrying cupcakes?”

John glanced around, as if he was afraid that someone would overhear. His gaze shifted back to Sherlock.   “May I come in?”   

Sherlock moved aside, gesturing for John to come in. John walked into his room and set the cupcakes next to him on the bed. He smoothed out a wrinkle that was on the thigh of his jeans. Sherlock shut the door behind John, his mind reeling. Why had John brought cupcakes? He crossed the room, a frown still upon his face, even though, in some part of him, he was happy that John had come over. He hadn’t realized how much he appreciated John’s presence until he thought that he would probably not see him again.   Not that he would be a wreck if he hadn’t ever seen John again, he wouldn't have been.

He’s lost friends before. He would be able to do it again if John had decided to stay out of his life forever. After all, why would he want to be friends with him? That question remained unanswered, which frustrated Sherlock. He didn’t understand why John would want to put up with someone like him. Sherlock pointed to the cupcakes.

 “Why the cupcakes, John?”   

“I baked them,” John said; his cheeks flushed pink.

  “Baked?”   Sherlock’s gaze flicked to the white-frosted chocolate cupcakes. The frosting was meticulously put on, shaped in a perfect swirl on top of the chocolate cake.   

“Yes…I baked,” John said softly, his own gaze shifting to the cupcakes.

  “But why?”

  “But why what?” John’s gaze flicked to the taller boy.  

“But why did you bring them over here? To me?”

  John’s blush deepened a bit more. He folded his hands in his lap; his thumbs knocked against each other.   

“Because… I wanted to. I thought that I would pay you back for giving me the pizza.” he said, smiling softly.   

“But I didn’t make that pizza, John.”

  John giggled. It seemed, when John giggled, his whole face lit up as if he had uncovered the most fascinating thing in the universe. The fact that John could react so… authentically to a small statement made a small smile come across Sherlock’s face.   

“Yes, I know that,” John said, once his laughter had died down. “But I wanted to bake anyways. It wasn’t any trouble…”   Sherlock raised an eyebrow.   “It really wasn’t. I’ve been baking for…years now. So, baking cupcakes isn't a hardship. Anyways, you should try one. I didn’t come all the way over here for you not to try one.”

Sherlock stared at the cupcakes as if they would jump out and bite him. He licked his lips; he heard his stomach growl loudly. He couldn’t remember the last time that he let himself have a sweet. Since he was a dancer, he liked to follow a certain diet, and that diet did not include sweets. After all, how could it? Sweets were filled with a bunch of calories that Sherlock didn’t need. When he ate, he needed to have real food.   If it wasn’t for ballet though, Sherlock was sure that he’d be the type of person that would always have some sort of dessert in his pantry. He would have chocolate bars, pies, biscuits, and brownies. He would probably have more things than that, but those would have to be his top choices. Unfortunately, though, his mother did not approve of sweets, so she never had them in the house. And, when she did, she only had a bar or two of chocolate.   

John picked up a cupcake and handed it to Sherlock.   

“Come on…try it,” John said softly, pushing it into his hands.

Sherlock had no choice but to take the cupcake. He unwrapped a bit of it before bringing up to his lips and taking a small bite. He hummed softly as the cake crumbled across his tongue, melting into his tastebuds. His eyes fluttered closed for a second; the cupcake was delicious.   

“This is…” Sherlock began once he had finished half of the cupcake. “…this is delicious, John.”

He glanced back up at the boy sitting across from him.   John grinned.   

“Thank you. That’s my favorite cupcake to make.” He gestured to the cupcake Sherlock was holding.   

Sherlock took another bite, humming softly to himself.

  “How long have you been baking for?” Sherlock asked, his gaze flicking up to John.   

John shrugged. “About a year now. Maybe more. I’ve been baking off and on since I was little.”

  Sherlock nodded as he took a rather large bite of the cupcake, finishing it off. He took a napkin from the tray and wiped the tips of his fingers off. John chuckled softly.   

“Sherlock…”

  “What is it?” Sherlock asked, turning back to John.  

“You… you have…”   

The ballet dancer’s eyes widened.

  “I have what?”   

John chuckled a bit more; he leaned in, brushing the corner of Sherlock’s mouth with his thumb. Sherlock went rigid; his eyes went wide. Warmth seemed to linger where John’s thumb just was. He licked his lips and gazed down at John’s thumb, which was coated in white. Sherlock’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. John wiped his thumb on the napkin that Sherlock had just used, smiling a bit.

“Oh…” Sherlock said, glancing up at John, who was still smiling at him.  Sherlock was about to say more, wanted to say more, but something stopped him. 

The light played across John's features, lighting them in a way that made them look more pronounced than usual. John’s cheeks were rosy, matching the color of his lips. Sherlock’s heartbeat echoed in his ears. Some part of him thought that John was too far. Much too far away. He found himself leaning in, gravitating towards John, not really aware of what he was doing. Their knees brushed against each other, but neither of the boys seemed to notice. They stared at each other, their gazes locked onto the other person, unwilling to move, unwilling to waver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support. It truly means a lot to me, and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your continued support! It truly means a lot. I cannot say that enough.

You know in the movies, where time seems to slow down? And everything seems to disappear? Well, in that moment, that’s what happened. Everything around Sherlock and John seemed to disappear. At least, it disappeared for Sherlock. His room, his bed, the cupcakes, and everything else, save for John, disappeared. Sherlock could only focus on the person in front of him, the one person that seemed to stick around even when he didn’t give him any reason to.   Sure, he hadn’t been rude to John, but he still hadn’t really believed that the rugby player would stick around. He thought that he’d leave the second he found out that he did ballet.

But here he was, sitting across from him, his knees brushing against his. Sherlock swallowed; the sound seemed to echo off of the walls around them. John stared right back at him, his pupils wide— focused on Sherlock. Sherlock swallowed again. He tried to back away a bit, but it seemed that his body was frozen. Shivers ran up his back.   

“Why— why are you looking at me like that?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.   

John blushed but didn’t move. He leaned forward a bit, his eyes focused on Sherlock.

  “Because,” he whispered.   

While Sherlock waited for a response, John leaned in more, closing the space between them. His lips pressed against Sherlock’s, barely brushing them. But, the faint feel of skin was enough for Sherlock. His cheeks burned, matching the sensation on his lips. He pressed back against John’s mouth, kissing him back softly, as if he was afraid of kissing him. Of having this kind of contact with him. John pulled away, his cheeks bright red.   Sherlock frowned.   

“Did…. did….,” Sherlock trailed off. Words seemed to escape him. He sucked in a breath, hoping that that would help his thoughts come together, to solidify. “…was that bad?”   

John’s eyes widened. He moved closer to Sherlock, shaking his head. He hesitantly raised his hand to Sherlock’s face, cupping his cheek. Sherlock’s face tilted, leaning into the small touch. He let out a breath.

  “Not at all,” John whispered, stroking his thumb across Sherlock’s cheek.

“Did… did you like it?”

  The thumb on Sherlock’s face paused.   

“Yes…yes I did,” Sherlock breathed, his voice barely able to be heard.

  John smiled; he stroked Sherlock’s cheek again. A small hum escaped Sherlock, making John’s smile grow. John leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlock's, pausing time once again. Sherlock leaned into the kiss as his eyes fluttered close. The warmth from John’s lips spread across Sherlock’s, claiming them as his own. Sherlock pressed his mouth harder against John, needing more contact.

Sherlock had never thought of himself as a very physical person, a person that was attracted by other people, but John was different. He wanted to experience John’s touch. He wanted to know what it was like to have someone like John Watson to touch him. It was odd— he had never felt this way before about someone, but here he was, wanting to be close to the rugby player that he had found annoying just a few short weeks ago. Sherlock wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted, but all he knew was that when it stopped, he was slightly out of breath. He pulled away, his lips warmer than they ever had been. It felt like all the blood had rushed to them, making them register every little characteristic of John’s lips.   

“Good?” John whispered, glancing at Sherlock.

There were many questions that John could have asked Sherlock at that moment, and the question that John had chosen to go with was not one of them. He had expected for John to say anything else except for that. Because, to Sherlock, the kiss was obviously good. He didn’t need to say that out loud. But, it would be rude of him not to respond to John, to let him just wonder if Sherlock had appreciated the kiss. So, Sherlock smiled softly, his cheeks still a bit red.

  “Yes…it was very good.”

  John smiled at him and kissed his cheek. He scooted closer to him, allowing their knees to completely touch each other’s. Sherlock glanced at their knees, blushing more deeply.   

“You’re adorable when you blush,” John said lowly, kissing one of Sherlock’s red cheeks.

  This little comment only made Sherlock blush more deeply. He had never imagined himself as the blushing type, but here he was, blushing every two seconds, stunned by the attention that this rugby player was giving him.   

“What… what does this mean?”   Sherlock’s voice wavered, unsure of what this actually was.

He had seen movies where the main character thought that they had finally gotten the person that they wanted to be with only to find out that the other person was interested in someone else completely, or that they were just using the main character. Sherlock didn’t want to be that main character. He didn’t want John to show Sherlock this side of him just to snatch it away again. If John felt anything for Sherlock, he wanted it to be real. He would want to be in a relationship with him. He wouldn’t just want to make out and then pretend that it never happened.   

“What do you want it to mean?” John asked, tilting his head to the side.  

 Sherlock bit his lip gently, thinking. He knew what he wanted. The words just didn’t seem to want to come out. They wanted to be locked away, in a place where they couldn’t just be thrown back into Sherlock’s face.   

“Sherlock?” John asked, tilting his head. “Are you okay? Did I do something?”

  John rubbed Sherlock’s cheek, bringing him back to the present. Sherlock let out a soft breath.   

“I…well,” Sherlock started. He rubbed the back of his neck. “…I want to be in a relationship with you.”   

The words came out quickly, almost as one long word. Sherlock closed his eyes, scared of John’s reaction. John could simply reject him, tell him that he’s only looking for someone to make-out with and not an actual relationship. Besides, it seemed like a lot of people at his school enjoyed going from person to person, making out with each of them, playing the field to see which person they liked best before picking one and dating them. Sherlock thought that whole thing was stupid, but no one ever came to relationship advice.   

John smiled widely and kissed the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, whisking off the rest of the frosting that had been stuck to his lip. Sherlock blinked, staring at him with wide eyes. The burning sensation on his lips came roaring back to life, claiming his lips.

  “That’s funny… because I want to be in a relationship with you too, Sherlock,” John said, a grin still plastered across his face.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So today I looked at how many people have viewed this story, and I was completely stunned by how many people have viewed my story.   
> Thank you so so much for the continued support. I cannot express how much it means to me. Thank you.

The words didn’t exactly hit Sherlock at first. He wasn’t sure why they didn’t, but they didn’t. Maybe it was because he still didn’t understand why John would want to be in that type of relationship with a person like him. Not because he was an outcast, or because he tended to be a loner (but that wasn’t intentional. If he could have more close friends, he would want to have them), but because he genuinely didn’t believe that he had anything…interesting to offer the other boy. To himself, he was uninteresting. Bland. Mundane.    But, John seemed to find something in Sherlock, which Sherlock wasn’t going to complain about.

Even though he still didn't really understand the feelings he had towards John, things seemed to be a bit clearer after they had kissed. Clearly John had always been more than a friend to him. Well, maybe not in the beginning, but after they met a few times to discuss their project, he started to see him as someone different. Someone that he wanted to hang out with. And then, well… his feelings changed, and grew stronger.   Part of Sherlock was afraid that John would leave after he realized what kind of person Sherlock was, but he didn’t let that stop him from being with him. Call him selfish, but he really did not want to go back to his life before he had met John Watson. He wasn’t quite sure why John was so special, but he was. He was different than the other people that Sherlock had met, and was different than his ex-boyfriend. Well. He believed that he was different than him. He hoped that John wouldn’t turn out the same way that his other romantic interest turned out.

There was a knock on the door, sending Sherlock out of his thoughts. He blinked as a bunch of blood rushed to his cheeks. Was it time already?

  “Sherlock, there’s this very nice gentleman at the door. He says that he is here for you?” His mother called from downstairs.   

“Coming, mother!” Sherlock yelled back.   

He grabbed his coat from his chair and slid it on as he exited the room. He hurried out of his room, not wanting John to wait any longer. A small smile came across his face when he saw John standing next to his mother, his gaze on Sherlock.  

“John,” Sherlock said, smiling a bit wider.

  “Sherlock,” John said, nodding.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.   Sherlock’s mother turned towards Sherlock.

  “I expect you to come back by eleven, Sherlock,” she said, handing him some money.

She didn’t seem to understand that this was more than just two friends going out for a night. No, this was more important than that. But, Sherlock wasn’t going to tell her that. Even though she was somewhat understanding about Sherlock’s sexuality, she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of her son dating other boys, especially after his last relationship had ended so poorly. Sherlock hadn’t been a wreck, necessarily, but he definitely had not been himself.

“Of course I will be back by then,” Sherlock said, tucking the money into his pocket. He glanced towards John. “Come on, let’s go.”   

“Bye Mrs. Holmes,” John said, leading Sherlock out of the flat.

Sherlock gave his mother a tight smile, her words from about a year ago playing through his mind. _Now Sherlock, you know that I always love you, but how can you like other boys? Doesn’t that seem… odd to you?_ At the time, Sherlock had been too stunned to say anything. He had thought his sexuality wouldn’t have a been a big deal to his parents, but apparently, it was. They acted like he was another boy who had stolen their son’s body. Looking back, he wished that he had told his mother that it didn’t feel wrong to him, that it actually felt right to him. Not that that would’ve changed their opinion on the matter, but it would’ve made him feel better.   Despite their thoughts about Sherlock’s sexuality, they didn’t stop him from starting a relationship with a boy. They simply told him to be careful. When that relationship went downhill, and the boy broke up with Sherlock, his mother had told him that she had been worried about this. She had been worried about her little boy getting hurt. Apparently, if Sherlock had dated a girl, he would’ve never had gotten his heart broken. Yes, the whole thing didn’t make any sense to Sherlock, but he didn’t feel like arguing about this with his mum, especially after she essentially lets him date whoever he wants, as long as he’s “careful” (Whatever that meant.) 

Sherlock left the flat with John, following him to the nearby lift. The two of them got in, not bothering to say anything. Sherlock was worried that somehow, his mother would overhear their conversation, and realize that he wasn’t simply “hanging out” with this boy and that he was actually going on a date with him.  Once the doors slid shut, John turned to Sherlock, smiling softly.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” John said.

  Sherlock shrugged and stared at the numbers above the elevator doors. Third Floor. Second floor. First floor. The doors opened about a minute later. Right before Sherlock could step out, John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s, lacing their fingers together. Sherlock glanced down at their hands; a blush spread across his cheeks.   

“Okay?” John asked gently, glancing at their hands.

“Y-yes, of course,” Sherlock said, trying to keep his voice even and failing.

He let out a breath, trying to calm himself.  This wasn’t a big deal. He had hung out with John loads of times before. This wasn’t any different. Yet, it was. Now, they were a couple. John had actually told him that he had real feelings for him. He wasn’t simply just a person that John wanted to be friends with. Sherlock, apparently, was someone that John wanted to be more than friends with. The whole idea of John willing wanting to spend time with Sherlock shocked him, but he didn’t question it.   The doorman nodded towards Sherlock and John as they passed him. Sherlock bit his lip and dug into his pocket, revealing a couple of notes. He handed it to the doorman.

  “If my mum asks anything about where we went, tell her that we just went to see a movie.”   

Technically, the doorman shouldn’t have taken the money, but he knew the situation that Sherlock had at home. His mum liked to keep tabs on him by asking the doorman where her son went. You would think that she would simply text her son, but apparently, that was too… boring for her. She had to ask the doorman about where he went. It was ridiculous. Well, Sherlock thought it was ridiculous.   John stood outside, waiting for Sherlock. The doorman nodded to Sherlock.

  “Have a good night, sir,” he said, tucking the money into his pocket.   

Sherlock nodded and hurried outside. John glanced at the doorman before looking at Sherlock.   

“Does your mum really ask the doorman about where you go?” John asked, frowning.  

The taller boy sighed as he tucked his hands into his jean pockets.   

“Yes, she does. She acts like I don’t know that she does this, but it’s obvious. I always see the doorman looking at me when I leave.”John opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock cut him off. “And no, it’s not just a regular glance. She would move from his spot near the door to see which direction I go in.”   

John kicked a pebble away from them, into the street. He glanced up at Sherlock.   

“But why doesn’t she just text you?”   

“Because she’s incapable of being normal.”  

Sherlock didn’t dislike his mum. He actually did like her. Well. For the most part. He wished that she wouldn’t have to spy on him and would just accept the fact that her son liked other boys. She never really brought up his sexuality after they had originally talked about it, which he was thankful for. He hated talking about it, especially since he knew what his mum would say. Deep down though, he knew that his home situation could be worse. He had heard stories from some of the girls at his ballet school about how they got kicked out of their house once their parents realized that they liked the same gender. He always wanted to tell those dancers that if they needed a place to stay, they could stay at his flat, but he never gets around to say anything. So, compared to those mothers, Sherlock knew that his was better. At least she hadn’t kicked him out of the house. John laced his fingers through Sherlock’s and squeezed his hand gently. Sherlock’s cheeks turned a light pink.   

“I’m sorry about your mum,” John said softly.   

Sherlock shrugged, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Which, it wasn’t. He didn’t need his mum’s approval. He just wanted her to be more accepting of who her son was. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what will Sherlock and John do next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

They walked a bit in silence, neither of them really feeling the urge to talk. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable though. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Sherlock and John had spent so much time together over the last few weeks, they didn’t mind not talking for a bit when they were together. It was kind of comforting, knowing that they didn’t have to talk to the other person all the time but knowing that they would still be there for them. Sometimes, all the other one needed was the company of the other.

Sherlock stared at his feet most of the time, but occasionally, he would glance up at their hands, as if making sure that John was actually here, and that he wasn’t dreaming about all of this.   

“What is it?” John said eventually, glancing over at Sherlock, who was staring at their hands.  

The taller boy’s gaze flicked up to John.

  “What do you mean?” His cheeks flushed.

“You keep looking at our hands… do you not want me to hold your hand?” John asked, frowning a bit.

  Sherlock’s eyes widened.   

“No! I mean, holding hands is fine. I said no because I don’t want you to stop holding my hand,” Sherlock said quickly, afraid that somehow he had put John off.

  He wasn’t lying, though. He did want to hold John’s hand. It just felt… odd to hold someone’s hand; he had never done it before. In his previous relationship, the other boy didn’t want to hold hands. He said that it was just a “societal convention” that showed when two people were in love and that it really didn’t mean anything. Sherlock had been put off by this at the time, but he just went along with it, since he didn’t want to upset the first person that ever displayed legitimate interest in him.   

John smiled and glanced around, noticing that they were entering another part of the city. Trees lines the narrow streets and the buildings became slightly shorter.

  “The movie theatre is around here, yeah?” John’s gaze flicked to Sherlock.  Sherlock nodded.   

“Yeah, it should be…” He looked around until he found the street sign that he had been looking for. “There.” He pointed to the sign.   

A hint of a smile flashed across John’s face. He squeezed Sherlock’s hand gently.

  “Should we go, then?”   

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile.   

“Yes, let’s go.”   

John led the way as they crossed the street. Some people milled in front of the theatre, but most people seemed to just walk past it. Sherlock smiled a little. That was a good sign. He didn’t want to share the theatre with a bunch of people. Mainly, he just wanted to share it with John.   John collected their tickets at the box office before taking Sherlock’s hand again and leading him to the lobby of the theatre. The lobby was surprisingly busy. Sherlock sighed softly. Didn’t these people have anything better to do then go to the movies on a Friday night? He had known that the theatre would be busy, but he had hoped that it would be less busy. He had hoped that people would have parties to attend to or more interesting things to do then sit in the dark and watch a film that helped actors become even richer.   

“Oi! I think that we should see Guardians of The Galaxy!” a familiar voice called.  Sherlock’s blood ran cold; he stopped moving to wherever John was taking him.

No. They couldn’t be here. They couldn’t be. This was his date with John. They couldn’t ruin it. He glanced around, trying to figure out exactly where they were. He let out a small breath; they were across the lobby, starting at the box office screen, trying to figure out what movie that they should see. Sherlock glanced back at John, who was shaking his head at the person at the front of the line who had apparently “misplaced” their tickets. Sherlock squeezed his hand a bit harder than he meant to. John frowned and glanced up at Sherlock.   

“Is everything okay?”

  Sherlock blinked. He bit his lip. He wanted to tell him that they had to go, that they had to find something else to do. But, if he did that, John would want to know why. He let out a breath.   

“Yes…everything’s fine. I didn’t mean to squeeze your hand that hard. Sorry.”

  John looked at him for a moment before turning back towards the front of the queue. Finally, they had reached the front. The lady tore their tickets and told them which auditorium to go to. John took Sherlock’s hand again and led him down a large hallway until they found the movie that they were seeing.   While John led him, Sherlock glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, afraid that the guys he had seen had followed them. After all, the theater wasn’t that big. It was very possible that they went through the other ticket-checking section and were in the main part of the theatre just like they were. Sherlock let out a ragged breath. No. That wouldn’t happen. They didn’t know that Sherlock was here. They didn’t even seem like they knew John was here, either. Surely, if they knew that John was here, they would’ve given him grief, right? About going with him? It was also quite possible that they knew that John was going to the movies, but they didn’t know that he was going to the movies with anyone. But, then again, wouldn’t they have at least said hi to him?   John squeezed his hand gently, sending Sherlock back to earth.

He shoved those thoughts out of his head, locking them in the back of his mind. He couldn’t think about that right now. He wasn’t going to sacrifice his date just because he was afraid that a group of people would find out that he was here.

  “Where would you like to sit?” John asked, glancing at Sherlock.   

Sherlock’s gaze quickly scanned the room. He pointed to two seats in the middle.   

“Do those work?”   

John nodded and led them to their seats. The seats were perfect; right in the middle of the row, and almost exactly in the middle of the theater. Sherlock slid past some of the people that had already sat down, and eventually, took his seat. John shrugged his jacket off and draped it over the back of his seat.   

“Do you want anything to eat?”

Sherlock shook his head. As much as he would like something to eat, he couldn’t. In a few weeks, he was doing a performance with others in his ballet school, and he couldn’t get sidetracked by eating too much. If he ate too much, he would feel sluggish, and then all of his hard work would be for nothing. He needed this performance to be perfect. John frowned a little, but didn’t press the subject.   

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes. If I miss any of the movie, fill me in when I get back.”   

With that, John took his leave. Sherlock shimmied into the chair more and let out a breath. His shoulders still felt tense from earlier. He still felt like those guys were watching him, silently laughing at him from the back of the theatre, plotting their next move. Of course, Sherlock knew that this was ridiculous. They weren’t here. If they had chosen the movie that they said, then they would be in another theater by now. He pressed his eyes to his hands. Why did they have to come here tonight? Didn’t they realize that tonight was important? That this was the first “official” date that he and John were going on?   His phone vibrated in his trouser pocket. He slid it out and looked at the screen.

**Long line.**   
**I’ll be back shortly.**   
**Let me know if any movies look good.**   
**J.W.**

Sherlock sighed. So, apparently John would be gone longer than he thought. He let out a sigh, trying to calm himself down. He was fine. He would be fine. John was with him. John wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Or would he? When it came to him or his rugby buddies, who would John pick? Sherlock bit his lip, hoping that he wouldn’t have to find out the answer to that.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter of the story! This chapter is longer than the others, so I apologize about that. I hope that you enjoy it, though!

It would be a lie to say that Sherlock didn’t glance over his shoulder every few seconds while John was gone. Every few seconds, the young ballet dancer turned slightly in his seat to look behind him, hoping that he would see a boy in a dark red jacket walking towards him. It wasn’t that he was afraid that John would ditch him — he wasn’t. While he didn’t understand why John would want to hang out with him (still), he knew that he wouldn’t just leave Sherlock to fend for himself without saying anything first.   No, Sherlock was worried that somehow, those boys would see John and drag him away to their movie. Or that they would ask John what he was doing there and then he would be forced to tell them that he was with someone else. Little did John realize that he was with a person that they loathed.

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that the brief pause would provide him with some form of comfort.   Unfortunately, none came. He didn’t understand why his brain wouldn’t just shut off, but it refused to. He forced his gaze to the screen, wondering if watching something would calm him. The previews didn’t help much, but they did manage to momentarily distract him until John came back.

Sherlock glanced over when he heard someone murmur “excuse me” to the people that were sitting farther down in their row. He smiled; John was back.   John caught Sherlock’s expression and smiled back, lifting his hands to show that he had come with food. He took a seat next to Sherlock and put his bucket of popcorn in his lap.   

“Did I miss anything?” John asked, popping two pieces of popcorn into his mouth.   

Sherlock shook his head. He didn’t know if John had missed anything important, but he assumed that he hadn’t. John nodded and offered Sherlock the bucket of popcorn.

  “Do you want any? I asked them to put less butter on it, if that helps.”   

A small blush appeared on Sherlock’s cheeks. While the gesture was small, the fact that John had actually asked for that meant quite a bit to him. He glanced at the popcorn and bit his lip. Surely just a few pieces wouldn’t hurt, right? The corners of John’s lips tugged upwards.   

“You don’t have to have any, but if you do… feel free to take some, okay?” John said, pushing the popcorn to the side so Sherlock could reach it more easily.   Sherlock nodded just as the lights dimmed, and the opening credits appeared on the screen. While Sherlock was focused completely on the screen — he loved movies, John was watching him, a small smile on his face. Sherlock seemed unaware of his gaze, too preoccupied with whatever was happening on the screen.

  After a few moments, Sherlock seem to register John’s gaze. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew that John was looking at him, but he knew. He glanced at him, frowning.   

“What is it?”

  John smiled, shaking his head.   “Nothing… I was just…” Red tainted his cheeks. “…I think we should just watch the movie, yeah?”   

Sherlock nodded as he turned back to the screen, a small smile pulling at the corners of his own mouth. They watched the movie silently, both of them too engrossed in what was happening in the movie to really pay attention to each other. Well, that’s what Sherlock wanted John to think. He wanted John to think that he was too busy paying attention to the movie to cast small glances in his direction, wanting to see his reaction to certain parts of the movie. It was amusing to watch John watch a movie. His facial expression changed almost during every scene, from smiling softly to pursing his lips in frustration because the character did something idiotic. Sherlock wasn’t sure why it was so amusing to watch him, it just was.   

Maybe it was because John was one of the only people that he really cared about, the one person that he wanted to get to know. He wanted to know what made him laugh, angry, or even sad. It was odd, this feeling. It was completely foreign, something that he hadn’t experienced. A small voice in the back of his mind told him that he should run away, that he should leave John, since this was such a different feeling. Sherlock yelled at that side of him; he didn’t want to leave John. He didn’t care if this was a brand new emotion. All he cared about was being with John.   

At one point during the movie, John looked over at Sherlock just as Sherlock was turning away to look back at the movie. John smiled softly and placed his free hand in between them so Sherlock could hold his hand if he wanted to. Sherlock caught John’s movement out of the corner of his eye; his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink. He slowly reached for his hand, lacing his fingers through John’s. John smiled at him and leaned over to kiss Sherlock’s cheek. They spent the rest of the movie like that. Occasionally, John would squeeze Sherlock’s hand, reminding him that he was still with him, that he hadn’t gotten so lost in the movie that he had forgotten that he was there with Sherlock. Sherlock would smile at these small squeezes, but never said anything about them. He wanted to say something about them, but he didn’t want to get yelled at by other people in the theatre for talking. He normally didn’t care what other people said or wanted, but he didn’t want them to get kicked out of the theatre because they talked too much. This was his first date with John, after all; he wanted it to go perfectly. Or, well, as perfect as it could go. Perfection was something that Sherlock knew was almost impossible to achieve, especially when it came to… social things. So, he simply sat silently during the movie and occasionally, squeezed John’s hand back.

“What did you think?” John asked at the end of the movie, glancing over at Sherlock.

  Sherlock was staring at the movie, eyes filled with tears. He hadn’t expected the ending to be that sad. Of course, he knew what was going to happen from the first twenty minutes of the movie, but he still hadn’t expected to cry because of the movie. He wiped at his eyes, whisking away the tears that threatened to coat his already damp cheeks.

“It was…sad,” Sherlock said, frowning.

John nodded; a small frown formed on his face.   

“Yes, it was. Maybe…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “…we shouldn’t have seen a sad movie on our first date. Maybe we should’ve seen a happy movie.”   

Sherlock looked at John and shook his head. While the movie was sad, he thought that it was a good choice. He had enjoyed the movie, which was really all that mattered. He’d rather cry during a movie and end up liking it than watching a happy movie and absolutely despising it. Especially since there seemed to be a lot of dull “happy” movies out there.

  “No, the movie was good. I… I liked it.”   

A hint of a smile formed on John’s face.   

“You did?”   

“Yes. I thought that it was very realistic. Well, the characters were. Some of the other stuff was implausible.”

John chuckled and leaned over to kiss Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock flushed a little, his eyes growing wide. He bit his lip; was he always going to blush when John kissed him? Or showed any type of affection towards him? He covered his cheeks with his hands, which made John laugh harder.   

“It’s okay to blush.”   

Sherlock shook his head.   “No, it isn’t. On average, people do not blush very much, and when they do, it’s usually when they’re very embarrassed or have undergone some physical exertion which turns their cheeks red.”   

“And that’s a bad thing? To have red cheeks?”   John raised an eyebrow.   

“In this case, yes.”

  “Why?” John shifted a bit so he was facing Sherlock.

  “Because…you…” More blood rushed to Sherlock’s cheek. He looked away and shook his head. “It doesn't matter.”

  He glanced around the theatre, wanting to see if anyone was still milling about. The theatre had mainly cleared out, save for a couple in the back that was taking advantage of the empty room. Sherlock’s cheeks reddened at the sight. Would John ever want him to do something like that? His gaze flicked back to the boy that was sitting next to him.   

“Should we leave? Everyone else has left.”   

John stood up, nodding. He extended his hand so Sherlock could take it. Sherlock put his hand in his and let him lead him out of the theatre. Once they were out of the theatre, Sherlock’s shoulders tensed. He had actually managed to forget about those people once the movie had come on, but now that they were out, he felt the worry clawing its way back to the front of his mind. He bit his cheek and looked around the room with wide eyes.

  “Is something the matter?” John asked, glancing behind his shoulder at Sherlock.

  Sherlock tried to survey the area, but it was difficult. The lobby was full of people milling about, waiting for their movie to seat. He ran a hand through his curly hair.

  “No…” He glanced back at John. “…no, nothing’s wrong. Can we go? I just… don’t like large crowds of people.” _Unless they’re present to watch me dance_ , he added silently.   John nodded.

“Of course. Come on.”   He pulled Sherlock with him, leading him away from the most crowded part of the theatre. It took some time, but eventually, they made it outside. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. John watched Sherlock silently, frowning a little.   

“Were there too many people?”  

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. Large crowds make me uncomfortable.” His gaze flicked back to him. “Thanks for…leading me out. I appreciate it.”

  John smiled softly.   “You’re welcome. Now… what do you want to do? Do you have time before you have to go back home?”

Sherlock bit his lip. This wasn’t a serious question. Truly, it wasn’t. But Sherlock couldn’t shake the feeling that this question was important. He didn’t exactly understand why he thought that it was important, he just thought that it was. Maybe it was because if John hadn’t wanted to hang out with him more, he wouldn’t have asked this question. He probably would’ve let Sherlock go on his merry way back home. But… he wanted to do something. Or did he? Sherlock ran a hand up and down his arm, acting as if he was cold instead of trying to dissect John’s question until he could figure out the other boy’s motive.   John watched him, silently, not knowing what was going on in the other boy’s mind. He shifted from one foot to the other.   

“You know, if you don’t want to do anything else, we could just…go back home.” He managed a small smile. “I wouldn’t be upset.”   

Sherlock’s gaze lifted from the floor and met John’s. He could go back home and dance, or he could go wherever John wanted to go, and spend time with him. Now, it was his turn to shift his weight. This really wasn’t a big deal. This truly, truly, wasn’t. But then why did it feel like such a big deal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you liked the chapter! Also, thank you for the continued support! It truly means a lot.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy.

About a half an hour later, Sherlock found himself walking back to his flat with two cupcakes in his hands. Yes, cupcakes. After about a minute more of thought, he had decided to go with John, but he told him that he didn’t want to do anything “major” (Sherlock had never thought that he would use that word, but he supposed that there was a first time for everything) since it was their first date. He had thought that John would be upset with him and tell him that he was being silly, but John didn’t. John just smiled and told him that that was fine. So, they had left the theatre and walked a bit until they figured out what they wanted to do next.

Since John was kind of “in control” of the date, Sherlock let him pick the next place that they should go. Part of him had wanted to tell John that they should go to the park and stargaze, but he figured that he could save that for another time, when it was his turn to pick the date. John, after a few moments of deliberation, had decided to lead them to a small bakery that he had been going to since he was little. Apparently his parents liked to take him to the bakery when he got good marks in school, or had really good behavior one week. John said that he didn’t go there that often now, but Sherlock knew that he did. If he didn't, he would have never wanted to go to the bakery with him.

When they arrived at the bakery, John kept walking up and down the cupcake display, looking for any new cupcakes that they had made. He also kept asking the owner questions about his recipes, wanting to know every little ingredient that the bakers used. Sherlock’s goal was to not get any cupcakes, but John wouldn’t take no for an answer. He had said that Sherlock had to try these cupcakes since they were the "best in London". So, Sherlock took the two that John bought for him without complaining about it. He figured that he could eat one and then save the other one for later, when he danced especially hard one day.

  Now, walking back from the bakery with a half-eaten cupcake and a whole cupcake, Sherlock understood why John was raving about the cupcakes. The cupcakes were delicious. They seemed to melt on Sherlock’s tongue every time he took a bite. He didn’t understand how something like a cupcake could taste like this. He hummed softly as he ate, occasionally humming louder when he took a particularly wonderful bite.   John glanced over at him as he hummed; a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.   

“Enjoying that cupcake?” he asked.

The smile on his face grew a bit.   Sherlock blushed and looked down at his feet.   

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to…hum so loudly.”   

John giggled as he took another bite of his red velvet cupcake. When his giggling finally finished, he shook his head.   

“I’m not upset… I just…” He smiled and looked up the taller boy. “Do you always hum when you eat? Or do you only do that occasionally?”

The blush on Sherlock’s cheeks deepened. He took a small bite of his food, trying to buy himself some time. He didn’t hum every time he ate, but he tended to hum when he was eating something that he really enjoyed. He wasn’t sure why he did that, he just did. When he was younger, Mycroft would tell him that it wasn’t polite to hum at the dinner table, but his mum always just told him to ignore his older brother. Sherlock, when he was older, realized that Mycroft probably only said that because he was annoyed by him.

“It’s okay if you do hum… I was just curious,” John said quickly.

  Sherlock’s eyes widened; he shook his head.   “I’m not upset. I was trying to understand why I hum while I eat, but I couldn’t come up with the answer.” Sherlock’s gaze shifted to the rugby player. “It’s something that I’ve always done. I’m not quite sure why. But, no, I don’t always do it. I only do it sometimes.”   

He finished off his cupcake and hummed loudly, as if emphasizing his statement. John chuckled and stood on his tiptoes to plant a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he stopped walking. He tried to process what just happened, but it was difficult. It all happened quite quickly. One minute he was eating his cupcake, then the next, John was kissing his cheek. He didn’t understand why John did that. Had he done something silly? He took a small step forward, forcing himself to walk.   John walked for a few seconds until he realized that Sherlock was no longer standing next to him. He paused and turned around.

  “Is something wrong?” He asked.

  Sherlock shook his head, blushing a bit. His cheek still felt warm from John’s kiss. It was like his cheek had locked onto the sensation of the kiss, wanting to make it last for as long as possible.   

“No…no… just…” Sherlock caught up to him. He sighed softly. “Why did you kiss my cheek?”  

John’s eyebrows knitted together.   “What do you mean?”

  “Well… why did you kiss my cheek?” He asked, repeating his previous question, not fully understanding why John didn’t understand his first question. After all, the question was pretty straight forward. Or at least, he believed that it was.

“Because…” John began, staring at his feet.

“Because why?”   Sherlock’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

He moved closer to John so that their shoulders brushed together. A shiver ran up Sherlock’s spine, but it had nothing to do with the rather chilly wind that seemed to rush through the street every few seconds.

“Because you were doing something that I thought was cute..so I decided to kiss your cheek.”  

Cute? Him? Sherlock stared at the boy, eyebrows knitted together, clearly not understanding a word that John had just said. How could he think that he was cute? He was not cute. He was anything but cute. When he thought of the word “cute”, he thought of puppies and kittens and sometimes little kids who tried to do a ballet move but failed to do the move properly. Most of the time they got so flustered that they just sat down right on the floor, pouting. It was quite entertaining. And adorable (Not that he would ever admit that out loud). But Sherlock? No, Sherlock was not cute.

“I’m not cute, John.” Sherlock said, after a few minutes had passed.

Sherlock’s building came into view. John cast Sherlock a sidelong look.

  “Are you sure about that?”   

Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. He tilted his head upwards, trying to act like he was part of some royal family that had just been insulted.

“Yes, I am sure.”  

John laughed and shook his head.

  “Fine. You may not be cute all the time, but you can act cute. You may as well accept this because my opinion isn’t going to change,” John said as a smile formed on his face.

  “But…I’m… I’m not,” Sherlock whispered.

  “Yes, you are.”   

They arrived at Sherlock’s building. Sherlock stopped outside of it, his body turned towards John’s. John looked at the building before glancing at Sherlock.  

“Guess…guess this is where I leave, isn’t it?” John asked, frowning a little bit.   

Sherlock’s expression matched John’s. While he was looking forward to being back in his room, he didn’t want to leave John. He wished that John could come in with him, but his mum would most likely see them, and she would definitely question Sherlock about why he brought his friend home at eleven, especially since he never brought anyone home. She probably wouldn’t suspect that they were dating right away, but Sherlock knew that she’d definitely be suspicious. He sighed and ran a a hand through his hair.  

“Yes…I believe it is,” he said softly.

  John shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Sherlock managed a small smile.   

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right? Don’t you have a game tomorrow?” Sherlock asked, trying to remember the date that he kept circling in his planner.   

“Yeah, I do.” John’s eyes widened. “Why? Are you planning on going to it?”   

Sherlock smiled and nodded.   “Yes, I was planning on it.”

  “But…you don’t like sports.”  

“I know, but…” Sherlock’s cheeks turned a faint red. Yes, he wasn’t a big fan of sports, but this was John’s game. John would be playing in it. He wanted to see him play. John had watched him dance so many times, it seemed only fair to see John do the thing that he loved as well. “…I want to.”

  John grinned. “That’s….that’s good. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”   

Sherlock nodded. John leaned in to quickly peck his lips before turning around, practically skipping away from Sherlock. Sherlock watched him go, mentally shaking his head, unable to believe that John Watson actually was interested in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and thank you for your continued support! It really means a lot to me.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, so I apologize about that, but I hope that you enjoy it!

Luckily, his mum seemed to be sleeping by the time he got home. The house was dark; not a single light was on. He slipped into the kitchen and placed his cupcake in the fridge, next to a note saying: Do not eat! This is mine. I’m talking to you, Mycroft. -SH.

He didn’t know if his older brother would actually listen to him, but he figured that placing a note next to his now-favorite food would keep his brother at bay. Mycroft had a secret sweet tooth, so he was always eating Sherlock’s treats when he came home with them. Sometimes, after a show, the other ballet dancers would hand Sherlock some biscuits or some type of pastry, wanting to congratulate him on his performance. Sherlock was always happy when he came home with sweets, especially after a performance, because he could actually eat whatever someone had given him. Or, that’s what he would have liked to do, if Mycroft wasn't around every time he had a performance. His mother made him go to every one because she said that that was the "proper" thing to do.

Mycroft liked to eat his food in the middle of the night, so when Sherlock got up the next day, only some of his sweets were uneaten. He would tell Mycroft that those sweets were for him, but his older brother would just feign innocence, and tell him that he never touched any of his treats. This time, though, Sherlock would make sure that Mycroft didn’t eat his cupcake. No, that cupcake was his. He shut the door to the refrigerator and turned to his bedroom, right as a light in the sitting room flicked on.

  “Late night, brother dear?” Mycroft asked, his gaze on his phone. He swiped at the screen.

Sherlock pursed his lips.

  “What are you still doing up?” He asked.

He padded into the sitting room with crossed arms.   

“I decided that it would be prudent to stay up until you got home. I didn’t want to assume that you got home safely and then wake up to find that you never returned home.”

  Sherlock, who had been living with his brother for seventeen years now, could see straight through Mycroft’s lie. Sure, Mycroft may have wanted Sherlock to come home safely, but that wasn’t why he stayed up for him. No, there had to be another reason. His eyes narrowed.  

“We both know that you didn’t stay up just to make sure I got home.” His eyes narrowed a bit more. He shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t trust him, do you?”  

Mycroft finally looked up at his younger brother. He turned his phone to sleep mode before setting it on the armrest. He placed his hand on top of it as he drummed his fingers on the screen.

  “Now, I’m sure that he’s a very competent——”  

“So you did stay up because you don’t trust him. You didn’t think that I’d come home. You thought he would make me stay at his house.”

  Mycroft sighed.   “No. And if you would think a bit harder, Sherlock, you would realize that I didn’t stay up simply to know if my brother returned from his date safely.”   

While his mother didn’t know anything about his relationship with John, Mycroft had picked up on it the minute the minute John had arrived at their flat with those cupcakes. He may have known that they would date before then, but if he did, Mycroft had never said anything. Either way, he didn’t care if Mycroft knew about his relationship with John. No, he knew that Mycroft would have the decency to not tell their mother about this.   Sherlock stared at his brother, trying to figure out why he had stayed up. Oh. Of course. Obvious. How could he have not seen it before?   

“You don’t trust him,” he said finally, after a few seconds had passed, after he was sure that that was why Mycroft had stayed up. “You thought that I would come home in an emotionally compromised state.”

Mycroft picked up his phone and twirled it in between his fingers. His gaze met Sherlock’s.

  “I only want to protect you, brother dear. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “Protect me?” Sherlock asked, eyes widening. He shook his head. “I don’t need protecting, Mycroft. I am perfectly able to handle this situation by myself.”

  He couldn’t believe it. Truly, he couldn’t. Mycroft had met John. He had talked to him. Surely he had to realize that he wasn’t like the other boy. Surely, he had to see that John actually cared about Sherlock and that he wouldn’t hurt him. At least, that’s what Sherlock believed. After spending so much time with John, he couldn’t imagine that the other boy would ever do something that would hurt him or make him upset. John really did seem different than the other person he had been interested in.   

“Yes, you may think that though, but remember when you said that when you were with the other one?” Mycroft asked. He still twirled the phone in his hand.   Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Mycroft leaned forward a bit, moving closer to Sherlock.   “Yes, you see, I’m only looking out for you, brother dear. I do not want something like that to happen again.”

  “But it won’t,” Sherlock said with a slight edge to his voice. “John is different than him. You may not understand why, but I can tell that he’s different. Your concern is not necessary. Good night, brother.”   

He turned on his heels and marched out of the room, refusing to engage in conversation any further. He wouldn’t let his brother get into his head and make him second guess John. Over the course of the last few weeks, he had been doing that plenty. He didn’t need to do it again. All he wanted was to enjoy John’s company.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter is a bit short, but the other ones should be a bit longer. Hope you like it! :

The next morning, Sherlock woke up to his phone buzzing. And buzzing. And buzzing. If his phone wasn't so important to him, he would've thrown it out of the window. Instead, he groaned and reached for his phone. He propped himself up on his elbows as he glanced down at his phone. Five new text messages. Five. Over the course of six minutes. He opened his messages, smiling when he saw the name of the sender.   

**So the cupcakes.** **What did you think?  -JW**

**Weren’t they good?  -JW**

**Come on… I know that you thought  that they were good.  -JW**

**Sorry.  Ignore my last texts.  -JW**

**Good morning, Sher. -JW**

Sherlock couldn’t help but giggle as he read through John’s texts. So this was the person that he had a crush on. This was the person who played rugby but was absolutely in love with baking, and seemed to want people to marvel at great works of bakery.   He shook his head and texted back, his thumbs flying quickly over the keyboard.   

**Morning to you too, John. ~SH**

  He sent the message and smirked before typing out another one.   

**And yes, I did enjoy the cupcakes. ~ SH**   

A smile crossed his face as he sat up and stretched, arching his back. He got out of bed and put his dark red dressing gown on, hoping that it would help block out the morning chill. He went over to the mirror that was over his dresser and ran his hand through his curls, trying to smooth them out a bit. They were going this way and that, each one of them seeming to not want to be next to the other. Once satisfied with his appearance, he changed into a pair of dark jeans and a light purple button-down. He smiled at his reflection, happy with the way the purple accented his pale skin. He wondered if John would like the color on him, too.   His phone buzzed loudly, sending him out of his thoughts. He picked the phone off his bed and glanced at the screen.   

**I told you that you would like them.**  
 **How are you? -JW**  
  
  Sherlock rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips quirked upwards.

   **Yes, you did.  You were right about them.  
 I’m doing well.  ~ SH**   
  
  He was just about to set his phone down when he remembered that he had forgotten to ask John something. He quickly typed out another text.     
  
 **And you?**  
 **Did you sleep well? ~ SH**   
  
He let out a small breath and put his phone down. He busied himself with making his bed while he waited for John to text him back. Every part of him wanted him to sit down and wait for John to text him back, but he knew that that was ridiculous. There wasn’t any point of just sitting and waiting for him to text him, but that’s what he wanted to do. Instead, he tidied up his bed, pulling the sheets this way and that until it looked the way he liked. By the time he was finished, his phone buzzed loudly, echoing off of the walls of the room.

**I did.  Thanks.  
What time are you coming  to the game today?  -JW**   
  
  Sherlock bit his lip, trying to think of when the game was. He had ballet today, so he wanted enough time to go from the ballet studio back to his flat to shower and change before the game. He knew that he could just take a shower at the studio, but he preferred not to. If he had to though, he would. He refused to miss John in one of the games that decides if they moved into the playoff round. Sherlock didn’t know much about sports, but he knew that playoffs were a big deal.   His phone vibrated, sending Sherlock out of his thoughts.   
  
**It’s at six, if you were wondering. -JW**   
  
  His eyes widened, surprised that John knew what he was thinking, especially since he couldn’t see his face.    
  
 **Then I’ll be there at five.   …if that works.  ~ SH**  
  
John’s response came a few seconds later.     
  
 **Of course that works.  I’ll see you then.**  
 **Remember to pick up your  ticket at the stand.**  
 **I already purchased  it for you. -JW**  
  
  A small blush spread across Sherlock’s cheeks. Of course John would already have saved a ticket for him.He wouldn’t be surprised if he had gotten him a ticket in the first row, either. Not that he didn’t need to sit in the front row, but he was sure that John convinced the people at the ticket stand to reserve a seat for him that was perfectly placed so Sherlock could see the whole game without any problems. Sherlock shook his head, smiling a bit, surprisingly excited to watch John play.  


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this chapter is longer than the last! I hope that you enjoy it!

The day was mostly cloudy, but the sun seemed to fight its way through the clouds as Sherlock walked to the ticket stand. He tucked his hands into his pockets, a bit cold even though he could feel the sun’s rays on the back of his neck. He rearranged his scarf with one of his hands, hoping that it would block out more of the chill.   Luckily, it wasn’t too cold, but it was a bit cooler than Sherlock would’ve liked. He didn’t mind the cooler temperature, but he would’ve minded it less if he didn’t need to sit outside for the next few hours. Normally he wouldn’t even be at one of these games, but since he started to date John, he felt like he was obligated to go. Plus, he really did want to see John play.

  He walked up to the ticket stand and told the girl at the booth that he was collecting a ticket. She nodded and took out a small box that held the reserved tickets.   

“Name?” she asked, glancing up at Sherlock through her dark-brown eyelashes.   

“Er…” Sherlock bit his lip. John had never told him what he saved them under. “John, I think.”   

The girl nodded and rifled through the box until she found the ticket with John’s name on it. She pulled it out, her gaze on it. Her eyes widened.  

“J-John… John Watson?” she asked, her gaze flicking back up to Sherlock.

  Sherlock smiled a little. Just a bit.   “Yes.”

  “He…he never saves tickets,” she whispered, mainly to herself.   

Sherlock took the ticket out of her hand and slipped it into his pocket.  

“Yes, well…”

 

His cheeks flushed a faint pink.   The girl’s eyebrows knitted together as she took in Sherlock, slowly analyzing him.

  “Are…you two…dating?”    The blush that formed on Sherlock’s cheeks confirmed that yes, they were indeed dating, without him even having to say anything. The girl’s mouth opened a bit.   “Oh. Well…congratulations.”

  She managed a smile, but Sherlock could tell that it was entirely too forced. The way she tensed up when he told her that they were dating proved that she was not happy about this little development. Sherlock, however, wasn’t worried about her. The day after they got together, Sherlock was worried that John would find some girl that he liked better than Sherlock. He didn’t want to voice his opinion though because he was worried that John would get offended and tell him that he was worried about something silly. But, John could tell something was wrong, just like he always could. Once John found out what was bothering Sherlock, he told Sherlock that he had nothing to worry about, that he wasn’t interested in anyone else but him.  Sure, he could’ve been lying, but Sherlock didn’t think that he was. Besides, he would’ve been very surprised if John ended up cheating on him. Cheating was something that Sherlock would least expect John to do — he was far too honest to engage in any “forbidden” activity. Sherlock smiled back at the girl, and asked her not to tell anyone that they were dating before strolling towards the stadium.

The stadium was pretty crowded by the time that Sherlock had walked into it. Some students milled at the bottom of the stairs, talking amongst each other before they took their seats. Sherlock glanced at the seat number stamped on his ticket. He made his way towards the center of the stadium until he found his seat. John had managed to find him a seat that was right in the middle of the first row. Some of the players, including John, stood on the other side of the fence that divided the field from the bleachers. Sherlock couldn’t hide his smile when he saw John jumping up and down, getting his legs warmed up.   Sherlock wanted to cheer, but he knew that he couldn’t. Not now, at least. The bullies were surrounding John, talking to him. No. That wasn’t right. They shouldn't be near John. Sherlock pursed his lips. Because of them, he couldn’t cheer. Because of them, he couldn’t do anything with John at the end of the game. He had watched some videos about sporting events — he didn’t know much about them — to figure out what people’s significant others did after the game. He knew that the player usually liked to run up to their beloved to kiss them, but Sherlock hadn’t known if that was just a rumor or something that was actually fact. After watching multiple videos though, he found out that yes, people did like to kiss others after a game.   The unfortunate thing was that Sherlock wouldn’t be able to let John kiss him. Not while those people were around him, or where people could take a picture of them kissing on their phones. He didn’t understand why people would want to take pictures of other people engaging in a public display of affection, but apparently they did. And if they took pictures of him and John kissing, they would post it online, and then well, those bullies would target him even more.They may even go after John. His stomach constricted. He couldn’t have that. He couldn’t let John be put in that position.   

A voice broke out in the stadium, throwing Sherlock out of his train of thoughts. The announcer introduced the visiting team and welcomed them to the school. People from Sherlock’s school booed them and told them to go back to where they came from. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Was booing truly necessary? Once all the players of the visiting team were introduced, the announcer introduced the home team. The name “John Watson” echoed throughout the stadium. Cheers echoed throughout the stadium. Sherlock, figuring that it was fine to cheer since everyone else did, cheered right along with the people. John turned around as people cheered, waving at the crowd. His gaze took in the crowd until he found Sherlock. His face lit up in a smile. Sherlock smiled back, but tried not too smile widely. He couldn’t stop the feeling that those players were watching him, even though the probability that they were was very small.

Finally, after what seemed like minutes, the announcer called the other players. Sherlock sat back down in his seat, his lips quirked up in a smile.   Sherlock tuned out, not really interested in the other players. He already knew who most of them were, and he didn’t really care about what position they played and what not. What he wanted was to watch John play, to hopefully see him carry the team to victory.      

A bit later, cheers erupted from the crowd. Sherlock stood up and cheered, joining in whatever the crowd was saying. He wanted to cheer for John, but he thought that cheering for one player may stick out when most of the people were just chanting their team’s name. He maneuvered his way past the people that stood in the middle of the aisle before darting down the steps to go to a tree that was near the stadium that people never really went to.   Well, he didn’t tell him that he had to go to the spot, but he knew that John wanted him to go there since he had mentioned it in conversation.

Sherlock rushed out of the stadium and into the open air. He sucked in a breath, enjoying the clean, slightly chilled air. The stadium had grown warm over the course of the game, so it was nice to finally be somewhere that wasn’t full of a bunch of teenagers screaming for a team that they probably didn’t even care about most of the time. John had told him that ticket sales always spike during playoff season, which sometimes annoyed him because he’d rather people come for the whole season instead of for a couple of games. But, he appreciated people coming to watch him play either way. At least, that’s what he had said.   Sherlock smiled at thought of John and kept walking, excited to congratulate him on the impressive win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope that you enjoyed it.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the delay! Here is the next chapter! I hope that you enjoy it!

The tree that John sent Sherlock to was surrounded by smaller trees, so Sherlock and him could have some privacy. Sherlock thought that they could just go back to his flat instead, but he wasn’t going to argue with John. He never wanted to have an argument with John. He was afraid that if he did, John would run away and not want to be with him.  
  
So, instead of saying anything, he leaned against the tree and ran a hand through his hair. His heart beat loudly in his ears. He slowly exhaled. This wasn’t a big deal. All he was doing was meeting John. He had seen John plenty of times now. This wasn’t any different than the other times.   Yet, for some reason, it did feel different. Sherlock didn’t understand why it felt different, but it did. He paced around the tree, hoping that the activity would help calm him down a bit. He hated feeling like this. It didn’t do anything. All it did was make him overthink every little thing that he could possibly mess up when John arrived.   

“You okay?” a voice said, breaking the silence.

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder.   John was standing in between two smaller trees, a small smile upon his face. He was wearing his red letter jacket that had his last name on the back along with a pair of dark jeans. Sherlock smiled at him, all of his previous thoughts leaving his mind. John. He had made it.   

“Of course,” Sherlock said, his smile growing into a grin.   

“What did you think of the game?” John asked softly.

He padded over to Sherlock until their toes were brushing against each other’s.  

 “It was… it was good.”

  “Do you really--” John began.

  “Yes, you were brilliant, John,” Sherlock answered, cutting off his boyfriend. Like Sherlock, John often dwelled on things as well. Sherlock didn’t understand why that was so annoying to other people until he met John. Not that John dwelled on things a lot, he didn’t, but he certainly did dwell on some things.   

“You honestly think so?” John’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper.   

“Of course I think so.”

  John grinned and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, burying his head in his chest. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Sherlock was a little rigid at first; he hadn’t expected John to show him affection like this, something that he still wasn’t very accustomed to. His muscles slowly relax, though, and before he knows it, he’s resting his chin on top of John’s head and closing his own eyes, just enjoying being in John’s company. The only company that he really wanted these days.   John hummed against him and kissed Sherlock’s chest.   

“I’m glad that you went to the game… I didn’t know if you would want to since sports aren’t really… you know.”

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered opened. He looked down at John.

  “Of course I would go to your game, John. Even though I may not understand the purpose of sports all the time, I would be more than happy to watch my boyfriend play.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of John’s mouth. He rolled onto his tiptoes and kissed Sherlock’s lips.   

“What was that for?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head a little.   

“Just…” He shrugged. A faint pink colored his cheeks. He looked away.

  “Just what?”   Sherlock reached up and touched John’s cheek, making the rugby player look at him. He didn’t understand; why was John acting like he was embarrassed? Had he said something wrong? Something that made John uncomfortable? John leaned into the touch and looked up at Sherlock.

  “Just…I like it when you call me your boyfriend. It’s…. nice.”   

The ballet dancer smiled and kissed his head.

  “Well, I guess I should just keep calling you my boyfriend, then.”

  “That would be the logical conclusion,” John said, smiling widely.   

Sherlock glanced around, taking in their surroundings. He wrapped his arms more tightly around John.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Sherlock asked softly.

John glanced up at Sherlock.   “Of course… do you have anywhere in mind?”   

Sherlock thought for a moment, wondering where he and John could go. He wanted to take John to a bunch of places, so that wasn’t the problem. The problem was picking out the place they wanted to go first. He bit his lip gently, deep in thought. John raised an eyebrow.  

“Have anywhere in mind?” John asked again, repeating himself.

Sherlock bit his lip a bit harder.   Where could they go? There were a bunch of places that they could go, but none of the places really seemed to fit the occasion. Yes, nothing really remarkable had happened, but John had won his game, so he wanted to go some place where they could celebrate his victory. He would suggest that bakery again, but he didn’t want to take John to a place that they had just been to. And John was probably hungry, so he wanted to go someplace where they served food.   He quickly went into his Mind Palace, searching for the room where he kept all the restaurants he liked to go to. He walked over to a book shelf and glanced at the names of the books, which in this case, were names of restaurants. A smile came across his lips. Yes. That’s where they would go.  He ran a hand through his hair as he came out of his Mind Palace. He looked down at John with a smile upon his face.   

“Yes, yes I do. Come along, John.”   John smiled and followed him to a nearby parking lot where a black car was waiting for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! It truly means a lot to me.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than most, so I hope that you enjoy it! Thank you again for your continued support!

Sherlock opened the door for John, letting him get into the car first. The driver usually opened the door for Sherlock, but Sherlock wanted to open the door for John because they were on a date, so he wanted to be extra polite to John. He liked to think that he was always polite to John, but he figured that being a little bit nicer wouldn’t hurt him. Especially if he wanted John to stick around, which was something that he desperately wanted.   Whenever he thought about John leaving him to go date some cheerleader, his chest constricted. His breathing became labored. All he wanted to do was escape into the “safe room” of his Mind Palace and stay there to escape from the pain. But, luckily, John was still with him, and didn’t seem to show any sign of leaving, which Sherlock was thankful for.

  John nodded to Sherlock as he slid into the car. Sherlock smiled at him before sliding in and shutting the door behind him. Mycroft sat across from the couple, his gaze slowly taking John in. John moved closer to Sherlock, very aware of his brother’s gaze. Sherlock moved closer to John and held his hand; his own gaze found Mycroft’s.

  “Stop that, Mycroft. That is unneeded,” Sherlock said, glaring at his older brother. 

“I was simply observing.”  

 “Yes, by making John uncomfortable.”   

Mycroft raised his eyebrow.  “Uncomfortable?” His gaze flicked to John. “Yes, I suppose that I did. You have no reason to feel uncomfortable, John. I was merely observing.”

  John shifted closer to Sherlock; their knees brushed together. A small blush spread across Sherlock’s cheeks.   

“I wasn’t uncomfortable. I’m just… not used to people looking at me like that,” John said, his gaze on the floor.   

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t look at him like that, Mycroft. John is our guest. /My/ guest. You should treat him with some respect.”

  “As I said, Sherlock, I was looking at him. Is that a crime?”

  “Yes, it is, when it makes your brother’s boyfriend uncomfortable.”Sherlock looked over Mycroft’s shoulder, at the driver. “Could you take us to the cafe near our flat? The one that Mycroft likes to go to almost every day?”   

The driver nodded and turned onto a road that would take them to the diner.

  “I do not go there—” Mycroft started.

  “You say that you don’t go there, but we both know that you do. You like their cake. Can’t get enough of it.”

  John chuckled at that; Sherlock smiled and squeezed John’s hand. Mycroft sat up straighter and puffed out his chest.   

“I am on a diet, Sherlock. And it is my goal to uphold that diet.”

  “That is your goal, but you are failing. And you know it.”   

The car pulled over in front of a cafe that had a few tables outside. Sherlock smiled and got out of the car. He opened the door for John so he could get out.   

“I will see you later, brother dear,” Sherlock said to Mycroft as he shut the door.   Once the car pulled away, Sherlock turned to John.   “Ready?”

  “Yes— I’m starving.”   

With a small smile, Sherlock took John’s hand, and led him into the small cafe. The cafe was quaint; there weren’t a lot of tables, but it managed to still feel like a restaurant. That might be why Sherlock liked it so much. Besides the food, of course. The food was fantastic, so Sherlock was sure that John would get a good kick out of that, seeing as how he liked to cook and all.

The hostess walked over to them, smiling softly.

  “Sherlock, nice to see you again,” she said, her smile growing a little.   

“You too.”   John glanced between Sherlock and the hostess. The hostess was about their age and had red hair. Her eyes were a piercing blue, a color that seemed to cut right through anyone they focused on. John shifted closer to Sherlock.   

“Anything I can do for you?” she asked them. 

“Table for two. Is Angelo here?”   

“Of course.”

She grabbed two menus off of the hostess podium and led them to a corner that was surrounded by windows. She put the menus down on the table.

“Angelo’s in the back, but I’ll tell him that you’re here.”   

Sherlock nodded and took a seat across from John. John’s gaze trailed after the hostess; a small frown formed on his face.

  “Is something wrong?” Sherlock asked; his eyebrows knitted together.

John glanced back at Sherlock.

  “Oh. No. Just…”   

“You’re wondering how she knows me.” Sherlock said.

He gestured to the hostess who was now leading a new group of people to another table.   John sighed.   

“Is it that obvious?”   

Sherlock chuckled as he picked up his menu.

  “It’s a bit. But you don’t have to worry about her, John. She just knows me because I come here a lot. I don’t… well, I’m not interested in her.”   

“But she’s interested in you,” John said before he could stop himself. His cheeks flushed deeply.   

Sherlock put down his menu and sighed. He should’ve seen this coming. John didn’t really seem like the jealous type, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t get jealous. He leaned closer to him.   

“That doesn’t matter,” he said lowly, his gaze on him. “Because I’m not interested in her. I’m here with you, John. If I was interested in her, I would be somewhere with her. But I’m not. I’m with you. And to be honest, I’d much rather be with you.” He smiled a little bit.

John relaxed into his seat and nodded.   “Okay.” He said, smiling. “I guess I just assumed that there was…”

  “No. There’s nothing there, John. Nor will there ever be.”

 That moment would’ve ended perfectly with a kiss, but unfortunately, Angelo came over before the two boys could. Angelo clasped Sherlock on the back, smiling broadly.

  “Sherlock!” Angelo said, beaming.

“Angelo.”

  Angelo glanced at John and back at Sherlock.

  “I’m going to get something nice for you and your date. Does spaghetti sound good? Or do you want pizza instead? Whatever you want, Sherlock, it’s on the house.”

  John stared at the larger man with wide eyes, not really understanding what was going on. Sherlock’s gaze flicked to John.  

“What would you like, John? Whatever you want, it’s free.”   

“Erm…” John glanced at his menu before looking up at Angelo. “Spaghetti and pizza sounds good.”

  Angelo nodded. “Of course. That will be out shortly. Good to see you, Sherlock.”

  With that, Angelo left the couple alone. John stared at Sherlock with wide eyes, not really understanding what had just happened there. Sherlock laughed and slid his menu to the side of the table.  “Angelo is a family friend. My father helped Angelo get out of some financial trouble a few years ago and helped his business do better. Ever since then, he has been giving us free food.”

  “Even you?” John asked.

  “Yes, well, I’m part of the Holmes family, aren’t I? He gives free food to all of us.”  

 John nodded, smiling softly.   “Guess I won’t be needing this then, huh?” He said, gesturing to the menu.

He set the menu down next to his plate.   

“Well, if you want to order something, you can. Angelo will be happy to make it for you,” Sherlock said, shrugging. “Did the food that he asked about not sound good?”

  John shook his head.   “No! I mean, yes, it sounded good. I was just wondering if I could order something else if I wanted.”   

“Of course,” Sherlock said, smiling.   

The rugby player nodded as he looked around the cafe, his gaze jumping from table to table, analyzing the people that were sitting at each. Sherlock watched him carefully, a small smile on his face.

  “Trying to deduce?” he asked softly.

  John blushed and shook his head; he turned back to Sherlock.   

“Not at all. Just… this place is busy.”   

Sherlock’s gaze flicked across the cafe.   

“Yes, it is. But, Angelo’s food is very good. You’ll see.”

A small smirk teased the corners of his lips.   A few minutes later, two plates of spaghetti were being carried to them. Sherlock grinned as Angelo put the plates in front of him and John. Angelo grated some parmesan over their pasta before taking his leave, telling them that their other food would be out shortly. Sherlock nodded and stuck his fork into his food, but didn’t take a bite of it. Instead, he looked at John expectedly.   

“I think that it would be wise for you to take the first bite,” he said, grinning.   

“Why?”   

“Because you made me take the first bite of that cupcake the other night so it would only be fair for you to take the first bite of the pasta.”  

 “But… you should, since you took me here.”

  Sherlock shook his head and gestured to the food. “I insist, John.”

  John twirled his fork around the spaghetti and took a rather large bite. Sherlock watched him closely, trying to figure out whether or not he liked it by his facial expression. He could just wait until John actually told him what he thought about it, but he preferred to find out before he said anything. It was more…entertaining that way. Besides, John could lie about whether or not he liked it. He didn’t think that John would dislike the dish, but he knew that everyone had different tastes.   John smiled as he prepared his second bite.  

“This is good. This is…” He glanced down at the pasta. “…surprisingly good. Do you know if they make the tomato sauce in house?”   

Sherlock chuckled and took a bite of his own food.   “Yes, they do. Why? Do you want Angelo to give you the recipe?”

  John blushed; he shook his head.   “No. Well.” He took another bite of food, chewing slowly, his gaze on the middle of the table. “Of course I would like it if he gave me the recipe, but I understand that this is probably some top-secret recipe that he wouldn’t want to give out. Especially to a stranger.”

  Angelo came to their table, carrying a large basket of bread and a pizza. He placed the pizza and bread on the table, smiling softly. He nodded at Sherlock before turning around and leaving the two boys alone. Sherlock turned to John and gestured to the pizza.   

“Do you want me to get you a slice? Or do you not want one?”   

John lifted his plate up in response. Sherlock laughed and slid a slice onto his plate.   

“Thanks,” John said, grinning.

  “Don’t mention it.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their little date at Angelo's continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued support! It truly means a lot to me.   
> Also, sorry for the delay in posting! Since you had to wait longer for this chapter, this chapter is longer than most. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy it!

Sherlock stared at his building, frowning. He didn’t want to go in. He really, really didn’t want to go in. Not because he was in trouble, or because he was afraid to see what he’d find, but because he didn’t want to part with the boy standing next to him.   John gazed up at the building, sighing. He looked back at Sherlock.

  “You don’t have to go home, you know,” he whispered.  

Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed. Of course he had to go back. If he didn’t, his mother would get worried about him and probably decide to send all of New Scotland Yard after him.   

“Of course I have to go back…”   

“Couldn’t you spend the night at my place, though? My mum wouldn’t care. She's actually… quite okay with all of this.”   He gestured between them.   

“She wouldn’t care that we were sleeping in the same room even though we’re…involved?”   Sherlock’s eyes widened.

His mother would never let him do that. With a girl or a boy. She thought that couples shouldn’t sleep over at each other’s homes until they got married. She was kind of “old-fashioned” that way. Sherlock didn’t understand why sleeping over someone’s house was so wrong, even if the person was your significant other.   

“No,” John said. 

  “Even if I’m a boy?” Sherlock whispered.

  A frown tugged at John’s lips.

  “What do you mean? What does your gender have to do with it?”   

“Well…” Sherlock looked down at the ground. “…my mum thinks that if someone dates the same gender they’re being ‘irresponsible’.”

  “Why?”

  Sherlock finally looked up at John.

  “I don’t know. I mean, she would never stop me from dating someone, but I know that she hates… well, how I’m not into girls.”

  John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling him close to him.   “I’m sorry,” he whispered against his forehead. He kissed his forehead. “Maybe she’ll come around eventually?”

  “Maybe,” Sherlock muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, let’s go to your place. I’ll just text my mum and tell her that I’m staying over your house. She shouldn’t mind.”

  “Are you afraid that this’ll lead her on?”

  Sherlock shrugged. “It may. It may not. I don’t really care. I don’t have to confirm any of her thoughts on the matter.”

  John grinned and kissed his cheek.

“Great. Let’s go.”

  He wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s and led him away from his flat building. He hailed a cab before opening the door for Sherlock, letting him in first. Sherlock blushed softly as he slid in, touched by John’s thoughtfulness. John got in after him and told the driver where they wanted to go. The cab pulled away from the curb, entering traffic. John glanced over at Sherlock, smiling widely. Sherlock smiled in return as a shiver ran up his spine. A bit later, they arrived at a building that looked like it was built recently. Like a year ago. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, surprised. He had expected John to live somewhere smaller and not in the heart of the city. Well, he wasn’t quite sure what he would consider the “heart” of London, but he had thought that John would live in a more quiet part of town. Apparently he was wrong.   

John glanced over at him, smiling broadly.   “Surprised, aren’t you?” He asked as he got out of the cab.

He paid the cabbie while Sherlock got out of the cab.

  “Maybe a little bit,” Sherlock admitted, walking towards the sliding glass doors of the building.

  John jogged over to him, a small smile still on his face. He walked into the building and led the way to the lift.   

“We just moved here a few months ago. My mum got a new job and this was closer to her office. She could’ve taken the tube to work, but since she got a raise, she decided that we should move instead.”

  “What about your father? Was he okay with the move?” he asked as he and John hopped onto the lift. The lift doors closed.   John looked down at the floor; the smile that had been on his face faded. One of his hands curled into a fist.   

“Did I say— Oh.” Sherlock said, frowning. He pivoted so he was facing John. “I’m sorry, John. I…I didn’t know.”   

“Of course you didn’t,” John said, his gaze still on the floor. “How could you? I never talked about it.”

  “Yes, but that should’ve told me that something was off.”

  John looked up at Sherlock, his eyes glassy. Sherlock took a small step towards him, unsure of what to do, what John would be comfortable with. He wanted to comfort him, but he wasn’t sure how. People responded differently when they were upset about something.   

“I…well, I act like I come from a normal family. My father…he…” He ran a hand through his hair and looked up at Sherlock. “..died in a car accident. That’s why my mum wanted to move. I mean, she wanted to move anyways since they had been planning on moving, but after what happened….well, she wanted to get out of our old flat. Too many memories, you see.”   

The doors of the lift opened. John got out and reached into his pockets for his keys. Sherlock followed him silently, unsure of what to say, or what to do.

  “I…I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered.

  John shrugged. “You don’t need to be sorry, Sherlock. This…well, it wasn’t your fault. And I’ve heard enough ‘I’m sorry’ to last a lifetime.” He sighed. “I just wish he was here, you know? He…” He shook his head. “It wasn’t even his fault. A drunk driver hit him.”   His hand shook as he tried to slide the key into the lock. Sherlock reached for his hand, steadying it. John looked up at Sherlock; the key slid into the lock.   “Thanks,” John whispered. He slouched back, leaning against Sherlock. He ran a hand through his short hair. “I’m…I’m sorry.”  

“Why are _you_ sorry?” The ballet dancer murmured.   

“For being emotional. I shouldn’t be like this. It happened a while ago.”

  “No, it didn’t… and it’s okay to be emotional. You lost a parent, John.”   Sherlock walked around John so he was standing in front of him. He looked down at him with a frown.   “Showing emotion doesn’t mean that you’re weak, John. Showing emotion shows that you’re human. There’s nothing wrong with that.”   

John nodded a little bit. He wiped at his eyes.

  “Do you still want me to be here?” Sherlock asked, frowning a little. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome. If John wanted to be alone, he wanted to let him be alone.   John’s eyes widened.

“What are you talking about? Of course you can stay. I don’t want to be alone.” He sucked in a breath. “No…no…stay, please. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

He managed a small smile. He reached around Sherlock to open the door.   Sherlock followed John into the flat. In front of him, a wide hallway led into the kitchen which he assumed the sitting room was attached to. Off to the left of the entrance, an office sat on one side, and a small open room sat on another. Bookcases lined the walls of the open room. Sherlock smiled a bit at how many books seemed to be piled on each shelf.   

“Do you like reading?” Sherlock asked, gesturing to the library-looking room.   

John smiled and nodded. “Yes. I do. I never quite understand why people don’t like reading.”

  He kicked off his shoes and pushed them towards the door with his feet. John reached for Sherlock’s coat. Sherlock shrugged his coat off and gave it to John.   

“Thanks,” Sherlock murmured as he walked into the room lined with bookcases.   

He walked around the room, his eyes scanning the title of every book, hoping to get a feel for the types of books John liked to read. He chuckled a bit when he saw two bookshelves filled with cooking books. Half of them were for baking.  

“I made my mum get them for me. She got me this one for Christmas,” John said as he came up behind Sherlock. He pointed to a book called The Essentials of Cupcakes.   

Sherlock laughed. “I assume that you like to bake a lot from there?”

  John nodded as his cheeks turned a light red. “Yes. I try to bake at least once a week. Sometimes I bake more than that. It really depends on my rugby schedule or if my mum had went to the grocery store to get the things that I needed.”   He glanced towards the kitchen. “…Would you like to eat? Or do you want tea?”  Sherlock smiled.

“Tea sounds very good. Thank you.”   

With that, Sherlock followed John into the kitchen. He took a seat at the kitchen island and watched John prepare their tea with a small smile on his face. John glanced over his shoulder.   

“Why’re you smiling?”   

Sherlock blushed and looked away, suddenly aware of his own person. He hadn’t actually realized that he had been smiling. He thought that he had just been looking at John in a normal way. What a normal way was, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he wasn’t looking at John in a strange way.   

“Is it bad to smile?” Last time he checked, smiling was an acceptable thing to do.   John dropped a teabag into each mug, shaking his head.   

“No, it’s not. I just didn’t know why you were smiling.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be smiling? I’m spending time with my boyfriend,” he said, smiling again.   

This time John blushed. He turned around towards the stove, blocking Sherlock from seeing the dark red that had covered his cheeks. He let out a soft breath, hoping to calm himself.   

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked; the corners of his lips retracted back to their normal spot.

“N-nothing. Why would anything be wrong?”   

“Well…” Sherlock stood up and crossed the room, not stoping until he was a few inches away from John. “You were blushing…and then you stuttered. Both of those things are actions you don’t normally do.”   

John looked up at Sherlock, his cheeks still a bit rosy.   “I’m fine. Just…not used to you calling me your boyfriend.”   

The timer for the tea went off. Sherlock reached around John to take the tea bags out of the mugs and tossed them into the rubbish bin. He wiped his hand on a grey towel that was lying on the counter.   

“And you do not want me to call you my boyfriend?”

He had thought that John would want him to call him that since it was the truth. Was he wrong?   John’s eyes widened; he shook his head. He took a step away from Sherlock and went over to the fridge. He took out milk before walking back over to Sherlock. He lifted the milk up, asking Sherlock a question.   

“Sure.”  

 John nodded and poured the milk into Sherlock’s mug. Sherlock wrapped his hands around the warm mug while John put the milk back where he found it.   

“You didn’t answer my question… do you not want me to call you my boyfriend?”

  John dropped a sugar cube into tea and stirred it in. He kept his gaze on the tea instead of on Sherlock. Sherlock frowned. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should’ve just went home when he had the chance. If he had known this was going to go like this, he wouldn’t have come over. Obviously this was a mistake. He put his mug on the counter.

  “I..I can go, John. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Maybe we should take it a bit more slowly.”

 He thought that they had been going slowly, but maybe they hadn’t been going slowly enough.  


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter!!

“What? No. Please. Don’t go.” John said quickly; quietly. He walked over to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his torso, stopping Sherlock from going anywhere. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to act odd. I can be odd too, sometimes.”

  Sherlock let out a soft laugh.

“Yes, but I think that I’m odder than you.”   

“No, you’re not. Everyone is odd.”   Sherlock looked down at John with a small smile.

  “You’re not odd. At all," John said confidently.   
  
  “How do you figure that?”   

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked up, into a smile. “Because I’m odder than you. But I’m fine with that…as long as you are.”

His smile grew.   John stood on his tiptoes so he could kiss Sherlock’s forehead.

“Of course I’m okay with that.” John rested his forehead against his. His breath felt warm against Sherlock’s mouth. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”

  Sherlock let out a soft sigh, relaxing into John. His eyes slowly shut.   “I don’t know. Some people aren’t…”

  “Then they don't deserve to know the real you.” He pulled away, his gaze still on Sherlock. “I actually never thought that you were odd.”   

The ballet dancer blinked, unable to believe what John had just said. He didn’t understand how John could have never thought that he wasn’t just a bit odd. Most people thought that Sherlock was odd solely because he didn’t have friends. Obviously since he didn’t have friends, something had to be wrong with him. He didn’t understand those people’s logic, but he supposed that he didn’t need to. If they weren’t using sound logic, he wouldn’t want to be friends with them anyways. But John… well, he would have understood if he found him odd.   Sherlock knew that he was an odd character. But, he had grown to be okay with that. Mainly because he had to. Wanting to be a professional dancer forced him to be more sure of himself, to accept that he was different than other people, but that was okay. In fact, it could give him the edge. Sometimes ballet companies looked for a particular type of person when they were looking to hire people. Well. Every ballet company did that, but he was hoping that the ballet company that he would eventually work for would be composed of more… odd characters. More characters like himself.   

At his ballet school, he had met a few people that were like himself, but most of them were normal. That’s partly why he had such a hard time making friends. He rarely found someone that was odd like him, or someone who could just deal with his quirks and eccentricities. John, somehow, was one of those people who could actually deal with him. He didn’t understand how he could, but he knew that thinking about it wouldn’t provide him with any clarity on the matter.   A warm hand running up and down Sherlock’s arm slowly brought him back to earth. He blinked again, his vision clearing up. He looked down at John.   

“Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts,” Sherlock said softly.

He picked up his tea and took a sip.  

John shrugged, smiling. “That’s okay.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Do you want to watch a movie?”   

Sherlock slid his hand into his pocket.

  “Sure. Do you want to pick? Or do you want me to?”   
  
  John shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

He picked up his tea and walked to the sitting room. Sherlock stood in his spot for a moment before following him.   

“Well…I don’t know a lot of movies, so you can pick one out,” Sherlock said as he took a seat on the couch.

  John took a seat next to him and turned on the telly. He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, unsure of whether he had heard him correctly.   

“You don’t know a lot of movies?” he asked softly.   

Sherlock shook his head. “I do watch some movies, but I don’t really know a lot of movies. I’m usually busy with ballet or school, so I don’t have much time to watch them.”

  “Even on the weekends?”

  “Most of the time I have some dance recital or rehearsal that I have to go to,” Sherlock said, frowning.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like movies. He actually quite enjoyed them. His brother thought that they were “pointless” but Sherlock didn’t understand that. If a movie made someone happy, how was it pointless? Movies were supposed to make people happy, even if the movie itself was sad.   

“Oh,” John said, frowning a little. “So all of your weekends are basically taken up?”   

He scrolled through some of the movies that they could watch.

  “Basically. Well, sometimes. Not all the time. It depends on what’s happening that weekend. Why?”

  “Just…I’m sorry that your weekends are taken up. You must not have much free time, then.”   

Sherlock shrugged; he had figured that John would say something like that. While most people would’ve been upset about not having a weekend, Sherlock didn’t really mind. But, that was only because he spent his weekends doing something he loved — dancing. It wasn’t as if he had to do a chore every weekend. If that was the case, then he would be miserable.   

“I don’t mind. Dancing for me is fun.”   

John smiled and gestured to the telly.   “Have you seen this movie?”  Sherlock glanced at the screen and shook his head. John smiled a little and pressed “play”.   “You’re going to like it. It’s about dreams and stuff.”   

A small laugh escaped from Sherlock.

“And stuff?”   

John’s smile widened.

“Well, you’ll see. Now shush.”   

The movie began to play. Sherlock watched the screen intently, wondering why this movie was so interesting. He doubted that any movie about dreams could be interesting, but apparently, this one was fascinating. He took a sip of his tea and moved a little closer to John. John saw the movement out of the corner of his eye.   

“Come here,” he said softly.   

Sherlock blushed a little bit; he hadn’t expected John to notice him moving, but he did. He moved over to him so his shoulder was brushing against his. John reached out for Sherlock’s free hand and squeezed gently. Sherlock’s blush deepened. He heard John chuckle next to him.

  “What’s so funny?” Sherlock asked, frowning.   

“Nothing. You’re just cute.”

  “I am not cute.” He pouted. He was certainly not cute.

  “Shhhh,” John said. He gestured to the telly. “Watch.”

  Pouting more, Sherlock focused on the screen again and watched what was happening, hoping that this movie was as good as John seemed to think that it was.  


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the delay in posting! Below you will find the next installment of the story!

By the end of the movie, Sherlock was staring at the screen, his lips slightly parted. John turned towards him with an eyebrow raised.

  “Well? What did you think?” John asked, smiling softly.

  Sherlock turned towards him.   “It was good. Very interesting concept.”

  John chuckled and nodded. “Yes, I agree. I thought that you would like it.”   

“Why did you think that I would like it?” Sherlock asked softly, titling his head to the side.   

“Because it’s a movie that makes you think… it’s not like other movies.”   

Sherlock nodded and glanced back at the screen, where a top was paused frozen mid-spin. He pursed his lips a little, wondering what it would be like to be able to go into your own dreams or memories. If he could revisit any time during his life, he knew that he’d want to visit the first time he had ever danced. He didn’t remember much about that night, but he remembered that he was in a bad mood so he stomped up to his bedroom. He wasn’t sure why he began to dance, but he knew that his bad mood made him want to dance.

  “Yeah, it isn’t,” John said, pulling Sherlock back to the present.

Sherlock blinked and looked at him. “You were zoning off again, weren’t you?”   

Sherlock fought off a blush, but it wasn’t any use. A faint red rushed up to his cheeks, coloring them.

  “Sorry,” Sherlock whispered.

  John shook his head.

“Don’t be sorry about it. It’s…it’s fine.”

  He turned off the telly and stood up, stretching. He looked down at Sherlock.

  “Do you want to spend the night?”

  Sherlock looked at the clock on the stove. It was almost eleven. He should probably go home, but if he went home, his mother would probably ask him why he got home so late, and he really didn’t want to have to deal with that. He didn’t want to try to explain to his mum that he had been late because he went on a date. With a boy.   Staying the night would probably make his mum more worried, but a simple text would put her at ease. He smiled at John.   

“Yes. Of course I would like to stay the night.”   

John grinned.

“Fantastic. Come on.”

  John led Sherlock back through the kitchen, to the foyer. They were just about to go upstairs when the door opened, and his mum stepped in. Sherlock froze; his cheeks turned a dark red, as if he had been caught doing something illegal. John turned around and went back down the stairs. He smiled at the small, petite woman, who Sherlock assumed as his mother.   

“Hi, mum,” John said.   

His mother put her bags down and smiled at her son.   “Hello, John,” she said as her gaze flicked over her son’s shoulder. “Is this Sherlock?”   

Sherlock’s cheeks deepened in color. He carefully turned around and went down the stairs. He stood next to John.   

“Yes, this is,” John replied, smiling at Sherlock.

  Sherlock glanced from John to his mother. He took a small step forward.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Watson,” he said, extending his hand.

  Mrs. Watson shook his hand and smiled.

  “You too, Sherlock.” Her gaze flicked back to her son. “So what have you two been up to?”   

“We watched a movie. Is it…okay if Sherlock sleeps over?” John asked, moving closer to Sherlock.   

Even though the question wasn’t really inappropriate, the fact that John was asking his mum if his boyfriend could sleep over made Sherlock blush.   

“Sure. But you know the rules, John.”

“Yes, I know. Sherlock and I won’t do anything.”   

Sherlock didn’t think that it was possible, but the blush that covered his cheeks darkened. Mrs. Watson chuckled to herself and put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, probably hoping to calm him down a little. Instead, Sherlock’s shoulders tensed a little.   

“Oh, don’t you worry, dear. I’m not nearly as tough as John probably makes me out to be. You're welcome to sleep in his room.”

 So I guess we’re just not allowed to do other stuff, Sherlock deduced, even though he wasn’t ready to go that far with John. The thought of going there with him was definitely something that he wanted, but it wasn’t something that he wanted at this moment. That was too soon. And, honestly, that whole exercise made him a bit nervous.   

“Thank you, mum,” John said, dragging Sherlock away from his mother and up the stairs.   

John led Sherlock to his room, which was slightly smaller than Sherlock’s room. But, then again, his parents had made his room bigger when they realized that the room was a bit small. During that time, he had to sleep in Mycroft’s room — that had been awful. Mycroft and him didn’t really get along now, but then, they hadn’t gotten along at all. They were constantly fighting. His mum had to come in to stop their fights almost every night. In Sherlock’s defense though, Mycroft always tried to tease him during that time. He said that he wasn’t as smart as him, and that he wouldn’t do as well in school as him. While school wasn’t Sherlock’s top priority, the fact that Mycroft said that always bothered Sherlock. If he wanted to, he was sure that he could do just as well in school as Mycroft had.   

The room was painted a dark red and white bookcases lined one of the walls. On top of one, a bunch of rugby trophies sat proudly. Below them, rows and rows of books cluttered the bookshelves. Next to one of the bookcase, there was a desk cluttered with papers. A laptop sat next to the papers, closed. John’s bed was placed in the center of the room, against one of the walls. A blue duvet with a red stripe down the left side covered his bed. Shivers ran up Sherlock’s spine even though it wasn’t cold. This was John’s room. This was where John slept.   Sherlock, obviously, knew that John had to sleep, but eyeing his room in person was a different thing altogether. It was as though a part of John that he had never seen before was exposed to him. It was odd. John shut the door behind them, drawing Sherlock out of his thoughts. Sherlock looked behind him, at the boy who was chuckling softly at him. John took a few steps until he was standing next to Sherlock.   

“What do you think?” he asked, glancing around the room before looking back at Sherlock.

  Sherlock smiled a little bit.   “It’s nice. Very….” His gaze flicked back to the trophies on one of the bookshelves. “…you.”   

“Very me? What does that mean?”   

“It means that if this was going to be anyone’s room, it’s most definitely yours because of the way it looks.”   

“Is that a bad thing?”

John took a seat on his bed, facing Sherlock. He taped the spot next to him, gesturing for Sherlock to Join him. Sherlock blushed but took a seat.

  “Not at all.”

  Carefully, slowly, John moved closer to Sherlock so their hips brushed against each other. Sherlock blushed deeply and looked away.

  “You know you’re cute when you blush, right?” John murmured, his own cheeks a bit pinker than they normally are.   

“How?” Sherlock asked, without turning around.

  “Because… it just…I don’t know. It’s just cute.”

  “John, we’ve had this discussion. Both of us know that I am not cute. Let us keep it that way.”   

John sighed but pecked Sherlock’s cheek, making him blush even more. A soft chuckle left John.   

“No, you are definitely cute. And you can say whatever you want about it, but you are cute. It is a fact.”

  Sherlock finally looked back at John. He frowned at him.   

“Fine. Then you are cute as well.”   

“I can live with that.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next installment of the story! I hope that you enjoy it! 
> 
> Once again, thank you for the continued support. It truly means a lot to me.

Sherlock had believed that John would become offended by that comment, but of course, he hadn’t been. Or if he had, he certainly did not show it. Since John was a rugby player, Sherlock was under the impression that John would get offended if someone perceived him in any other way besides fierce, but evidently he was wrong. Or maybe John had just accepted Sherlock’s comment because he was trying to spite him. Either way, he was surprised.   Right when John had started to shift up the bed, Sherlock’s phone vibrated. And vibrated. Sherlock frowned and pulled his phone out. Three missed calls flashed across the screen. All from his mother.

  “What is it?” John asked, shifting forward so he could see the screen. A frown formed across his face.

“Oh. Maybe…shouldn’t you call her back?”   Sherlock nodded.

  “Yes, I should. I just really rather not.”   

“But won’t she worry about you?” John asked; his eyebrows furrowed.   

“Probably.”   His phone vibrated again, much to Sherlock’s annoyance.

He glanced down at the screen, his eyes quickly reading over the message that had popped onto the screen. Voicemail. Two voicemails. Apparently she had tried to call earlier, but he hadn’t heard it ring. He sighed softly.   

“I guess that I should call her back. She’s going to keep calling if I don’t.”   

John nodded.

“Do you want me to go outside—“   

“No, no. You don't need to do that. Stay here.”   John smiled and pecked Sherlock’s cheek.   “I’m here for moral support. You know that, right?”   

“I appreciate that.”   His gaze fell onto his phone again.

Sighing, he got up and paced around John’s room. He called his mother, hoping that she for whatever reason wouldn’t pick up. It was a silly thing to wish, especially since she had just called him, but Sherlock couldn’t help but hope that she wouldn’t answer. Unfortunately for Sherlock, his mother picked up on the second ring. 

 “Hello?” his mother’s frazzled voice came from the other side. “Sherlock? Is that you?”

  Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. She had caller id. Obviously she knew that her son was on the other side.

  “Yes, mum, it’s me,” he said softly, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

  “I’ve been so—”

  “I didn’t mean to worry you. One of my friends dropped by and he wanted me to see a movie with him.”

  “A boy? You’re with a boy?” His mother asked.

Sherlock could imagine her eyes widening in fear, afraid that he was hanging out with someone who was more than just a ‘friend’.   

“Yes, mum, I am.”

  John slid to the edge of the bed. He carefully wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s hand, as if telling him that it was okay, that he wasn’t alone in this. Sherlock squeezed his fingers back gently.

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m at his flat,” Sherlock said flatly, not really seeing the point in lying. Plus, she would probably be able to tell if he was lying.

  “His flat?”

  “His parent’s flat, mum. I’m with John Watson.”   

The hand on Sherlock’s squeezed a bit harder. Sherlock squeezed it back, frowning.

  “Why are you with him again?”     
  
_Because I like him? Because he’s my boyfriend?_ Of course, he couldn’t say either of those things. He probably could tell his mum those things, but he wasn’t ready to. Not yet. He didn’t want her to try to ruin the one relationship that he actually wanted to keep going.

"Because it was late and the theatre was closer to his flat so he invited me over.” Sherlock envisioned his mother sitting up in bed, worried that her son was going to do something that she disapproved of even more than her son possibly being in a romantic relationship with another boy. “And no, we’re not sleeping in the same bed, so you don’t need to worry about that. I’m sleeping on his couch while he sleeps in his bedroom.”  

Sherlock could hear, actually hear, his mother let out a breath. He pursed his lips.   

“Okay. Well. I expect you to be back here by eleven tomorrow morning. You don’t need to overstay your welcome. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, mum, I do. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

Before his mother could say anything else, or change her mind, Sherlock hung up the phone. He put the phone on John’s desk, sighing. Warm arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to the person behind him. He let out a soft breath.

  “That could’ve gone much worse,” he said softly.

  “Really?” John asked, his eyes widening.

  “Yes. She could’ve told me to come home straight away, but she didn’t.”

John frowned and slowly turned Sherlock towards him so he could see his expression. Sherlock looked at him, his gaze hard.

“Breathe, Sherlock,” John whispered, running a hand through Sherlock’s curls, hoping that the motion would help calm him down and bring him back to him.   

Sherlock forced a breath out of his lungs, but his gaze was still hard. Yes, it was true, his mother did handle that situation surprisingly well. He had thought that she would’ve yelled at him, but Sherlock wasn’t convinced that this was over. Not with her paranoia and all. You would think that during this time in society his mum would be more accepting of this whole thing, but she wasn’t.   

“I wish my mum was more accepting of it, like your mum,” Sherlock murmured.   His shoulders slowly relaxed at the hand that kept carding through his hair. It felt like every touch John bestowed on him relaxed him just a bit more.

John nodded a little bit.   “She wasn’t very pleased about it at first, but that was just because she wasn’t expecting it. She knew that I had liked girls in the past, so when I told her about my sexuality, she was surprised.”  

Sherlock leaned back, away from John. His eyes widened ever so slightly.   

“Are you gay? Or…?” He trailed off, not wanting to pry. He was sure that John was fine with who he was, but he didn’t want to make him talk about it if he still was trying to come to terms with it.

  John smiled softly.   

“I like to think that I’m bisexual.”   

“Like to think?”   Sherlock tilted his head to the side, not understanding. 

“I just mean, I don’t really like to label myself. Don’t like to be put in a box.”

  Many people probably shared John’s view, but Sherlock didn’t. When he realized who he ‘leaned’ towards, he wasn’t hesitant to label himself. But, then again, he didn’t think labeling carried the same weight as other people did. He just thought that it was something people used in conversations like these. He didn’t understand why people insisted on making a topic like this such a big deal. He was still himself. He was still a person; wasn’t that more important?   

“I see,” Sherlock said softly.   John pulled away from his boyfriend, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of his room. He tugged at Sherlock’s hand.

  “Come on.” He tugged at Sherlock’s hand.   Sherlock frowned.   

“Where do you want to go?”   

“To bed, silly.” John pivoted towards his bed and gestured to it.   

Sherlock scanned John for a moment before nodding. Suddenly he was aware of how heavy his eyelids felt. He followed John to his bed. It wasn’t a long walk, but for some reason, it seemed extra long to Sherlock. Like he had to walk several blocks of London before he could lay down in it. Finally though, he managed to make it to John’s bed. He sat down and toed his shoes off. John watched him for a moment before disappearing into the bathroom that was attached to his room.   

“Be right back,” John called over his shoulder.

  Sherlock gave a small grunt of approval before taking off all of his clothes, save for his white undershirt and pants. He crawled to the top of John’s bed and snuggled under the covers. He pulled the covers up to his chin and breathed deeply. Vanilla and another aroma — John — danced around his nose. Smiling, he snuggled under the covers some more before closing his eyes.   When John returned from the bathroom, he walked into a quiet room. He had expected to find Sherlock awake and staring at him, but instead, he found his boyfriend sleeping peacefully. He quickly changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed, next to Sherlock’s sleeping form.   


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the story continues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and/or read the last chapter! Your continued support truly means a lot to me.

Sunlight streamed through the blinds, landing on the two boys that were sleeping soundly. One boy was completely under the covers, save for his curly hair that curled over the edge of the sheets. Another boy was sleeping on the other side of the bed, but his arm was stretched over the covers, reaching towards the other boy occupying the bed, his body somehow aware of the other person even though he was fast asleep.   The curly haired boy groaned softly at the sudden intrusion of sunlight. His eyes fluttered open; he took in the room, not immediately recognizing it.

After a few seconds, his confusion disappeared. A small smile formed on his lips. He rolled onto the back and looked at the other boy that was sleeping next to him. His gaze shifted to the hand that was next to him. Blushing, he leaned down and kissed the boy’s hand.   He pulled away, sliding over to the other side of the bed as the boy began to stir. The boy rubbed his eyes for a moment before opening them.  

 “Sherlock,” he said softly.

  Sherlock’s smile grew.   “Good morning,” he said softly. “Did I wake you up?”

  “Hm?” John rubbed his eyes for a moment more before dropping them back to his sides. “Oh, no.” He thought for a moment. “Why did you kiss my hand?”   

Sherlock’s cheeks had begun to turn back into their usual pale selves, but red clawed its way back across his cheeks.   “I….was that bad?”   

He thought for a moment, back to his previous relationship, back to the boy that he now hated to think about. He wasn’t sure why he had such an aversion to that boy, but he did. He didn’t want anything to do with him, which made having to go to school with him that much more difficult. Especially now that he seemed to have a new group of "friends". He shoved the thought of his ex out of his mind. He couldn’t think about that. That was in the past, something that would never repeat itself. Besides, now he knew better.  

“Not at all,” John said softly, sliding over on the bed, towards Sherlock. He smiled a little bit. “I was just surprised that you kissed it.”   

“Is it not normal to display affection for the person that you care about?”  

After all, wasn’t that why people decided to date other people? To be physical with them? The corners of Sherlock’s mouth turned down.

  “Of course it is. I was just surprised, that’s all. Don’t expect to be kissed when I first woke up.”   

“It was just your hand,” Sherlock said, blushing deeply.

  John laughed and nodded. “That is true.”   

A knock came from the corner of the room. John glanced at the door and mumbled under his breath and slid away from Sherlock.

  “Yes?” John called.   

“Oh, glad to see that you’re awake, John. I made breakfast for you and Sherlock if you want it,” his mum said, still from the other side of the door.  

 John glanced at Sherlock, grinning.   “My mum makes the best breakfast.” he said while he kicked off the covers.   

“Is that so?”

  “Yes, would you like some?” He glanced at the door. “Actually, I don’t think that you have much of a choice in the matter. My mum will be upset if you don’t eat anything. She doesn’t like it when people don’t eat her food.”

  Before Sherlock could give any type of response, his stomach growled loudly. John laughed and got out of bed. He walked over to a chair and grabbed his dressing gown from the top of it.   

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” he said as he tied the robe around himself.   He tossed another one in Sherlock’s direction.   “There, you can put that on. I would say that you could get dressed first, but I don’t think that my mum would be okay with that. She likes people to eat right after she cooks.”   

Sherlock nodded and got out of bed. He tied the robe around his body, blushing softly.   

“Are you sure that she wouldn’t mind if I was just in this?”

  John shook his head. “Not at all. And it’s not like you’re…you know, naked under it. Come on.”   

He opened the door for Sherlock, wanting him to go first. Sherlock quickly brushed past John; his stomach growled loudly again. Sherlock couldn’t quite remember when the last time he had woken up so hungry. It was odd. He didn’t like being this hungry.   He ran down the stairs before stopping at the bottom, wanting to wait for John. John walked quickly down the stairs.  

“Come on,” he said softly, smiling.

  He led Sherlock into the kitchen, where the smell of coffee filled the air. Two plates of pancakes sat on the kitchen island, one stack for Sherlock, and one stack for John. A glass of orange juice sat next to each plate. John smiled when he saw what his mother made them.   

“Thanks, mum,” he said, crossing the room to sit down in his chair.   His mother poured each of them a cup of coffee before handing to them.  

“You’re welcome. I don’t know how you take your coffee, Sherlock, but here’s some milk and sugar if you want either.”   

“Thank you, Ms. Watson,” Sherlock said.  

“You’re welcome, dear. Now you two should eat. Don’t want your pancakes to get cold.” She gestured to the stacks of pancakes.

“John, Harry has a game today. Could you make dinner?”   John nodded as he cut into his breakfast.

“Of course. Should I make her favorite? Or should I just make whatever?”   

“Whatever you want. Now I have to run. I picked up a shift so I could work before Harry’s game.” Her gaze flicked from John to Sherlock. “It was nice to meet you, Sherlock. I’m sure that I’ll see you a lot in the future.”

With that, she smiled and left the room to get ready.   Sherlock’s cheeks turned beat red. He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Sorry about my mum,” John said softly. “She tends to be a bit…overwhelming to some people.”   

Sherlock shook his head. “What do you mean?”  

John put his fork down. “She just tends to scare people, that’s all.”   

“Why? She seems nice.”   

John grinned. “Good. I’m glad you think that. Because she’s probably right —- she is going to see you here a lot.”    


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your continued support. I hope that you like this next chapter!

Sherlock stopped in front of the wooden door that separated him from his parents’ flat. His hand hovered over the doorknob; it was as if the doorknob would electrocute him if he touched it. He was afraid that once he went inside, he would be bombarded with questions. He was afraid his mother would go off, asking him about what exactly he got up to last night.   Which, in reality, was nothing. All John and he did was talk and sleep. But that was perfectly fine with Sherlock; he still had quite a good time. It seemed that as long as he was with John, he had a good time.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. After they had breakfast, Sherlock got to meet John’s sister, Harriet, who had been asleep when they had gotten in last night. She was a few years younger than John, and she seemed to have the same type of attitude that John did. Headstrong, smart, and witty. She didn’t stay around for long though because apparently there was some television show that she liked to watch on Sunday mornings because she would always miss watching it during the week.   Sherlock and John ended up cleaning the dishes for John’s mother before heading back upstairs. There, they had just talked some more. Nothing really exciting happened, but he didn't feel bored or upset while he was there. John had offered to take Sherlock home, but he told him no. Of course he wanted to be with him for longer, but he figured that John could use a break from him.

  Now, standing in front of his door, he wished that John had come with him. If John had come with him, he would’ve been able to calm him down a bit. He let out a breath and reached out to open the door. The door swung open, revealing his mother.   His mother crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at her son even though he was a few inches taller than her. She shook her head at him.  

“You do not engage in activities like that, Sherlock. You do not decide to spend the night at another boy’s house without clearing it with me first,” she said sternly, disappointment clouding her features.

  “I didn’t realize I was sleeping over his house until later, mum," Sherlock said, his voice sounding surprisingly small. 

  “Well I called you several times and you did not answer any of them, which makes me believe that you were avoiding my calls.”  

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. He ran a hand through his dark mop of curls.   “Mum, I didn’t get up to anything…inappropriate with John, if that’s what you’re insinuating. All we did was watch a movie at his flat. If you have any questions about whether or not we actually did that, you can contact John’s mum, who was there.”   

His mother blinked.   “His mother was there?”

  “Yes. And she didn’t have a problem with me staying over.” He forced out a yawn. “Now, I haven’t had tea for a while, so I would like to go make myself some.”

  Before his mother could stop him, he walked around her and went inside. He barely managed to slip past her, but he did. He walked quickly into the kitchen, mentally shaking his head. Why couldn’t his mother be more understanding? Why did she have to think that he was always up to no good? Some other students actually did do illegal things, but Sherlock didn’t. But, that didn’t seem to matter. Apparently sleeping over another boy’s house at his age was the equivalent of stealing or committing some type of crime.

  “You never came back last night,” a voice said, throwing the boy out of his thoughts.  Sherlock grunted and ignored the boy behind him. He refused to talk to Mycroft. Especially after his little interrogation with his mother. He flicked on the electric kettle that sat on the counter.   “There’s no point in ignoring me, Sherlock. I did not cause this to happen. I told mum not to worry about you and to not make this a big deal, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”   

Footsteps seemed to grow closer to them until they seemed to disappear. Sherlock let out a small sigh of relief; guess his mother had decided to go upstairs instead of interrogating her son any further. Maybe she thought that Mycroft would be able to talk some sense into him. He laughed softly at the thought. Mycroft wouldn’t be able to get anything out of him.  

“I’m not going to ask you what you were up to, Sherlock,” Mycroft continued, acting oblivious to Sherlock’s thoughts. “After all, I pretty much can assume what you have been up to. It’s quite clear to me.”

  Sherlock audibly groaned. He was not ready to engage in any sort of conversation, especially with his brother. He didn’t understand why his brother had to talk about this with him when he pretty much already knew exactly what went down between John and him. He opened the cupboard and took out a mug.

  “Ignoring me isn’t going to make me leave you alone,” Mycroft said simply. He took a few steps closer to his younger brother. “I do not have any intention on making your life miserable, Sherlock. I am your brother; I simply want to know what happened. I am not the only brother that would.”

  Sherlock rolled his eyes. Not this argument again. He tossed a packet of tea on the counter before turning around to face him.  

“Yes,” Sherlock began, “but most older brothers would not do it in such a cryptic manner. And they wouldn’t have an ulterior motive. You want to know if John is safe to be around. Other brothers would just want to know if I was happy or not.”   

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. He sighed and sat down at the island.   

“And are you happy?”

  Sherlock wanted to ask Mycroft why he asked such a simple question, but clearly he knew that there wasn’t any point in asking him that. After all, Mycroft was simply doing what his brother told him to do. Sighing, Sherlock poured some water into his mug, trying to buy himself some time. He had thought that he wanted his brother to ask him about his time with John, but he didn’t. It seemed like he would be…tainting it if he disclosed that information to Mycroft. That information was personal, special, his own. He didn’t want to go about telling anyone about it.   But, then again, this was his brother. He wasn’t really “anyone”.   

“Sherlock, I do not have all day. So, you may as well answer my question. I won’t leave until you do.”

  “But you just said that you don’t have all day,” Sherlock said. He plopped a tea bag into his mug.   

“Yes, but I will make time for you. So, answer the question.”  

Sherlock sighed.   “John and I had a nice time. We didn’t do much, but it was nice to hang out with him,” Sherlock said quietly, not wanting his mother to somehow overhear.   

“Are you glad that you hung out with him, then?”   

“Yes, I am.” He walked around Mycroft and took a carton of milk out of the fridge. “Now, I answered your silly questions. You can go now. I’m sure that the government is begging for your assistance.”  

As if on cue, Mycroft’s mobile vibrated. Sherlock smirked to himself as he went bag to his mug. He prepared his tea quickly and cleaned up the kitchen before rushing up the stairs, hoping that if he was in his room pretending to do homework that his mother wouldn’t bother him.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continued support! I hope that you enjoy this chapter.

Sherlock would be lying if he said that he hadn’t been looking forward to going back to school. Ever since the past weekend, he couldn’t wait to go back. Not because he wanted to sit through classes, but because he wanted to see the one person that seemed to make his day improve every time he saw him.   Since they had spent so much time with each other over the weekend, Sherlock and John had decided not to hang out again until the week started. Not because they didn’t want to — they did. But, with Sherlock’s mother basically watching his every move, they thought that it would be best to just spend some time apart.   So, the fact that Sherlock was standing in front of his school, knowing that he would see his boyfriend in less than ten minutes, made him very happy. Very happy indeed.

Despite the fact that they had just seen each other, it felt like they hadn’t seen each other in ages. Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder if this was a normal thing to experience. Did all couples want to spend a lot of time with their significant other? Or did they like having a bit of space? Either way, Sherlock assumed that it was probably odd for him to feel this way so early on in their relationship. He felt like this should’ve led him to be more cautious, to spend less time with John, but if anything, it just made him want to spend more time with him.   He bounded up the stairs and entered the building, ignoring the way people looked at him as he passed.

He walked quickly with his head down, for once not caring what people said about him. Well. He didn’t really ever care what they said about him to begin with, but today he cared even less than normal. All that mattered to him was that he got to see that dirty-blonde rugby player before he had to go to his first period.      Finally, after what seemed like a much longer walk than usual, he arrived at his ballet studio. Technically, it wasn’t his, but he had started to refer to it as his when he realized that no one but him used it. He thought it was funny that the school made a studio that only one student used. Not that he was complaining. He liked having a space to himself. Especially at a time like now, when he could use it as a place to meet his boyfriend.

  “Took you long enough,” John said just as Sherlock entered the room.

Sherlock shut the door behind him before shrugging off his book bag.   

“Sorry, bad traffic,” Sherlock began. He walked over to John and wrapped his arms around the boy. He closed his eyes. “I would be lying if I said that yesterday went by quickly,” he mumbled.

  John chuckled and wrapped his arms around the ballet dancer, pulling him closer to him.   “I know, yesterday did seem quite long. I’m sorry that I made us not see each other.”  

Sherlock shook his head against the crook of John’s neck.   “No, I understand why we did what we did. It wouldn’t have made sense to see each other when we both know that my mum probably would’ve gotten more suspicious about this whole thing.”   

“Well, at least we’re together again,” John said, smiling.   

“That is true.”   Finally, Sherlock let go of John. He took a few steps back, allowing John to have some space. His cheeks flushed at the thought of how long he had been holding onto the other boy.   “Sorry. Didn’t mean to…” _act needy_ , he added silently while he trailed off.   

John just smiled and shook his head.   

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mind,” he said softly, smiling.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course.”   John leaned down and picked Sherlock’s bag up so he could hand it to him.

Sherlock stared at it for a moment before taking it from him, groaning.   

“Do we really have to go to class? I’d much rather stay here with you.”

  “But I’m not staying here, either. I have to go to class, too.”

  “Can’t we just skip class?”   John gaped and stared at Sherlock with wide eyes.   “Oh, don’t act like that, John. I haven’t changed. I still think that going to class is important. I simply mean that I’d rather not go so I could stay here with you.”

  “But you’ll miss important information if we stay here.”

  “So? I’m ahead in most of my classes anyways.” John narrowed his eyes . “Fine, fine. I’m not ahead in all of my classes but I’m ahead in most. Satisfied?”   

John chuckled and pecked Sherlock’s cheek.  “A bit. Come on, let’s go to class.”  

Sherlock pouted. He really did consider himself to be a good student, a student that cared about his studies, but at this moment, he didn’t care about them. All he knew was that he wanted to stay here and just hang out with John. Sure, they wouldn’t be able to really do much in the little ballet room, but they would be able to talk without anyone watching them and they wouldn’t have to worry about anyone coming to find them because most students didn’t even pay attention to this room. It wasn’t like anyone would try to find Sherlock and tell Sherlock to go to class, anyways.   

“Come on, Sherlock. I’ll bring you a cupcake tomorrow if you go to class.”   

Sherlock’s face lit up. “Really?”

He had been craving one of John’s cupcakes ever since he had come over to his house with a big batch of them.   John laughed.

“Yes, really. I don’t mind baking them, and I should have enough time tonight to make them. So. Will you go to class?”

  “Can you bring them over tonight instead?”   

He didn’t want people to see him eating John’s cupcake and then pester him for a bite. He doubted that anyone would actually do that, but he couldn’t help but think that there would be one student that would try to do that. Or they would ask Sherlock where he got the cupcake and then he would be forced to tell them the truth.   

“Will your mum mind if I come over?”   Sherlock thought for a moment before shaking his head. Even if his mother did mind, he didn’t care. She was going to have to get used to seeing John around anyways.   

“Okay,” John said, smiling. “Then I’ll bring them over tonight. Ready?”   

Sherlock slung his book bag over his shoulder.

“I suppose.”   

With that, the two boys left the studio, and braved their day.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another installment of the story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is a tad bit darker than the others. Despite the theme of the chapter, I hope that you enjoy it! Also, thank you for the continued support!

Sherlock was almost home free. He truly was. He was walking down the stairs that were in front of his school, about to go to his dance school to practice. He was even humming to himself because he was in a good mood. The day had passed without any major incidents, save for being yelled at by a teacher for not paying enough attention while he taught. He didn’t understand why he had to pay attention to what the teacher was talking about — he was an awful teacher, after all, so he just said okay and continued to do whatever he was doing at the time. And, if he recalled correctly, he was texting John at that time, telling him how he was looking forward to tonight because they had agreed to do a little study session together at the library where John would bring a batch of cupcakes.   Sherlock, of course, didn’t need any help with his homework, but he wanted to be with John, so he thought that having a study session would be an interesting thing to do. Plus, he couldn't really turn down John's cupcakes. John readily agreed, and they had decided to go to the library a little after their after school activities.

   Sherlock’s day came to a screaming halt when he heard someone call his voice just as he was making his way to the curb. Of course he couldn't have a day that passed without any incidents. Of course _someone_ had to ruin it for him.

   “See that boys? The freak’s running. Guess he’s scared already. Is your ballerina sense tingling?” a voice called.

  Sherlock’s shoulders tensed. No. They couldn’t be doing this. Couldn’t they just leave him alone? He didn’t understand why these people insisted on teasing him. He had never insulted them, or did anything that would warrant this sort of treatment. Given, nothing ever warranted bullying, but Sherlock felt like he had especially hadn’t deserved something like this to happen.   

“Why are you ignoring me? You know, it’s quite disrespectful to disrespect people who are above you.” The bully continued.

  Above him? Sherlock froze and turned around, his eyes hard. Alex just laughed.

  “So apparently the boy does have ears. Now tell me, did you actually think that we were going to let you continue to slide by without teasing you?”

  Teasing him? That’s what they thought that this was? Clearly they knew that this was more than just that. Teasing was poking fun at him for doing something odd once in a while. This was more than just that. Sherlock’s hand curled into a fist.

  “Oh, don’t get angry now. Anger isn’t going to stop anything,” Alex said again.

  Sherlock’s gaze quickly took in the group that was following Alex. A boy near the back looked at Sherlock and smirked. Sherlock’s knuckles turned white. How could he do this? How could he support this? Alex took a step forward. Some of the boys near the back, save for the one that looked at Sherlock, ran around Sherlock and cut him off from going any further. They surrounded him, blocking every possible exit. Sherlock tried to make a run for it before the circle closed in around him, but it wasn’t any use. They had moved too quickly.   

Alex shook his head.   “Do you really think that we’re going to let you go anywhere? Do you think that we would be that naive?” He smirked and moved towards Sherlock. “I know that you’re supposed to be the smart one, but sometimes I wonder if that is actually true. To me, you seem quite stupid.”   

Sherlock stared at him, eyes wide. What was he going to do to him? He was outside, in the middle of the city. He couldn’t just hurt him here, could he? Wouldn’t other people stop him? His gaze flicked down the road, hoping that he would spot a black car coming his direction. Unfortunately, the street was filled with cabs and other meaningless cars. No sign of his brother.   

“You know, I appreciate it when people actually look at me when I’m speaking to them.”   Alex took a step closer to Sherlock, closing the distance between them. He grabbed Sherlock’s chin, forcing him to look at him. A small grunt left Sherlock’s mouth. He looked up at the taller, more muscular boy.   

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Alex, you don’t need to do this. This isn’t needed. I haven’t done anything to you.”   

Alex let go of his chin and laughed. Some of the boys surrounding them laughed along with him. Shivers ran up Sherlocks’ spine. How was this funny? How could they be laughing about this? There wasn’t anything funny happening here. If anything, they should be yelling at Alex for doing something like this.

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong. You are parading around as a boy, yet you do dance. Do you know how…insulting that is to males around the world?”   

What? Sherlock blinked. Had he actually heard him correctly? He thought that by doing dance he wasn’t being a man? He didn’t think it was possible for his knuckles to turn more white, but they did. He glared at him, throwing as many invisible daggers at him as he could.   

“But…”   

Alex smiled sadly at him.   “No buts. You are not a man, Sherlock. And it’s our job to make you see how to be a proper man.”   

And by be a proper man, do you mean beating people up? Sherlock asked silently, still glaring at his taunter.   Before Sherlock could really understand what was happening, Alex swung at him, throwing a punch in the side of his jaw. Sherlock cried out, unable to keep his scream in. He wobbled, but managed to stay upright. Alex smirked and punched him again, this time going for the other side of Sherlock’s face. Sherlock stumbled back, hitting the wall that the other boys had made. They laughed at him and pushed him towards Alex, who was coming right at him.

  “See, a real man would be able to stay put and take these punches. He would try to fight back. But you’re just standing there like a punching bag.”

  Again, Alex took a step towards Sherlock, but this time, he aimed for his stomach. Sherlock felt his stomach constrict, and all the air leave his lungs. He coughed as he stumbled backwards.

Alex chuckled and shook his head.   “Really? You can’t stand up? And I thought that you ballet dancers were supposed to be stronger than other people.”

  Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed. Why would he think that? Ballet dancers were actually surprisingly strong, but he hadn’t expected Alex to know such a fact. After all, ballet wasn’t a sport in Alex’s opinion. Well, that’s what Sherlock thought that Alex believed. He pushed himself back up and stared at Alex, throwing invisible daggers into him.   Alex didn’t seem to be intimidated by the glare. Alex and his friends laughed around him, clearly not scared at all by Sherlock’s sudden flare of anger.   

“You know, you’re really not that frightening,” Sherlock said, still glaring at Alex.

He took a step closer. He wasn’t going to let them push him around, act like he was the scum of the earth. He wasn’t just going to let Alex punch him over and over until he blacked out. No. He wasn’t going to be that person.   Alex raised an eyebrow before rolling his eyes.   

“Really? Now, I believed that I was terribly frightening.”   

“No, you’re not.” Sherlock took a step closer to him. “You’re not frightening.” He scanned Alex quickly, noticing the way he was standing, how he had his arms crossed over his chest, protecting himself. He fought off a laugh. “You’re actually quite scared. You’re scared of me.”  


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is extremely short but the next one will be longer, promise. :) 
> 
> Thanks for the continued support!

“What are you talking about? Of course I’m not scared of you.”   

This time, Sherlock laughed and rolled his eyes.  “Yes, you are. Because you don’t understand me. Do you?”

  “Well, of course I don’t. That’s why I’m doing this. You’re not a man. And this…” He gestured around them, at his friends. “Will show you how to be a proper man.”

  Oh, right. Of course he wasn’t an actual man. Because according to Alex, only tough, mean guys could be considered men. He rolled his eyes.

  “I think I’ll pass on your—“

  Sherlock hadn’t been paying attention. He had been too busy talking to Alex, trying to stall him from beating him up any more. While he was talking to him, the front door had opened, and a bunch of students had rushed out of the school. Most of the students ignored the fight in front of them and ran in the direction of the house. One boy, however, saw the fight and froze on the spot. That was, until he saw who was in the middle of the ring.

  “Sherlock?” the boy called, taking a step down.

  Sherlock glanced away from Alex, surprised by the voice. His heart leapt into his throat. No. He wasn’t supposed to see this. He wasn’t supposed to know about what Alex and his gang did to him.

 “Jo—-” Sherlock began, but he was cut off by a sudden blow to the side of his face.   

He stumbled back until he hit the wall of boys. Alex charged at him; another fist hit the side of his face. He tried to move away from the punches, but it was any use. The boys that he had stumbled back into were holding him fast, refusing to let him go anywhere. Sherlock saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a yell about what was going on, and then darkness swam around him, pulling him under. Mocking him.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for your continued support! It truly means a lot to me. I hope that you enjoy this next chapter!

The thing that his brain seemed to register the most were the knives that swam around his face, stabbing every inch of his skin. Or what seemed like every inch of his skin. There was a small beep in the background, keeping track of his heartbeat. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed. That sound could only mean one thing. And that thing wasn't particularly a _good_ thing. Why was he in the hospital? Yes, he hadn’t even opened his eyes so he could have been wrong about his current location, but that beep could have only been made by a heart monitor.   A small groan escaped him as his eyes fluttered open. He took in his surroundings quickly. He was in a small room, but it was closed off from the hallway. The door was shut, and the blinds were pulled down so no one could see in. Sunlight streamed through the blinds that lined the hospital window. He groaned a little; the light was much too bright. He shifted a bit and felt a hand on top of his.   A warm hand. A hand that he had felt many times before. He glanced at the person that was sitting in the chair next to him. John smiled softly and slid to the edge of his seat.   

“I was wondering when you’d notice me,” the boy said softly.   

Sherlock frowned a little.  

“How long have you been here for?”

  John shrugged.   “Just a few hours. You weren’t out for that long… the doctor’s said that I didn’t have to wait around and that you’d be fine, but I didn’t, well…” A rush of red colored his cheeks. “…I didn’t want you to wake up to an empty room.”   

Sherlock tried to smile, but the knives seemed to multiply when he tried to make his face contort. He groaned a bit more.

  “Your mum left to go get some water for you. And some food. So…she should be back here soon,”   John continued.   
  
“She’s here?” Sherlock tilted his head, confused.

  “Yeah, when she heard that you were in the hospital she came rushing over. She only showed up about ten minutes after me.”   

Sherlock pursed his lips together. He didn’t understand why his mother would rush from work to be with him. All he did was get a little banged up. Nothing serious. John watched him closely; a small frown formed on his face.

  “I’m sorry, Sherlock.”  

 “For what?”   The question came out quietly, barely above a whisper. Sherlock shifted ever so slightly so he could see John better.

  “For this happening to you. I had… no idea that Alex and his friends…” He shook his head.   

“How could you? They kept it a secret. They didn’t want you to know because they knew that you’d be against it.”   

John frowned and shook his head.   “But I should’ve realized that they were doing this to you. I was around you plenty after all…I should have been able to tell that something was bothering you.”  

Sherlock turned his hand over so his palm was touching John’s. He squeezed his hand lightly, hoping that the small gesture would show John that he wasn’t upset at him in the slightest. How could he be, anyways? Alex and his gang kept their intentions pretty well hidden, and Sherlock never mentioned what they did to him because he didn’t know how John would react.   Part of him wished that it didn’t take this long for John to find out about what they had been doing to him, but then again, this is what happened, and he couldn’t change that. John squeezed his hand back just as the door opened.

Sherlock’s mum came in and smiled a little when she saw that Sherlock was awake. John drew his hand back, away from Sherlock’s, and placed it on his lap.   Sherlock’s mother smiled a little at the rugby player.  

“Can you give us a few minutes, John?”

  John glanced from her to Sherlock, unsure if he should leave Sherlock when he was so weak. Sherlock nodded a little before looking at his mother. John got up and left the room, shutting the door behind him on his way out. Sherlock’s mother took a seat next to her son, frowning.   

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.   

Sherlock shrugged. He could talk, but he didn’t really feel like talking to his mother. Even though he basically told John that it was fine for him to go, he actually hadn’t wanted him to leave. He had wanted him to stay, but he knew that his mother wouldn’t have been happy about that.   His mother shifted in her chair so she was closer to her son. She brushed some of the hair out of Sherlock’s eyes.   

“Why didn’t you tell me that they were bullying you, Sherlock?”   

Sherlock sighed. Was this really important? Couldn’t she just be happy that he was okay and that they most likely wouldn’t hurt him again?

  “Because you were busy and I didn’t want to worry you most of the time. Mum, it isn’t important.”   

His mother pursed her lips. “Well, I’m still going to call the school and tell them that they should keep track of their students better. This is unacceptable.”  

“Mum, I’m fine. I’m just a little hurt.”   

His mother opened her mouth to protest, but after seeing the look on her son’s face, she simply nodded. “I know. But…that’s what mother’s do. They worry.”

  “I know. But I’m fine. No broken bones. I’ll heal fine.”   

She smiled a little and kissed Sherlock’s forehead.

“The doctor said that you’ll be able to go home after they give you a check-up one last time. They just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

_Even though I’m sure that you were the one that suggested that_ , he thought bitterly. His mother probably wanted to make sure that he was in good health before he went home. Which was kind of ridiculous, seeing as he was injured and all. All he wanted was to get out of here. All he wanted was to go home and be with John. But, he also supposed that his mum just wanted to make sure it was safe for him to travel.

  “Okay.”   His gaze flicked back to the doorway, where John was leaning against it, waiting to be able to come back into the room.

His mother glanced over her shoulder. A small frown formed on her face.

  “Is there something that you want to tell me?” she asked softly, glancing back at her son.   

“Wh-what do you mean?” Sherlock asked.   

“About…you and John.”   His mother looked at him evenly, expressionless.

Sherlock looked at her closely before sighing.   

“Please don’t be upset…but he…well, he’s my boyfriend.”

  Much to Sherlock’s surprise, his mother smiled. Yes, actually, smiled. Sherlock stared at her, shocked. He had expected her to yell at him, to tell him that he shouldn’t be with him. But... apparently he was wrong.   

“You’re not upset?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

  His mother shook her head. “No, I’m not. While I may not be a fan of you dating a boy, John seems like a very nice person.”   

Sherlock’s frown slowly disappeared into a smile.   “Really? You’re okay with him, then?”  

His mother smiled and kissed her son’s forehead. “Yes, I am. I’ll let you two talk for a bit and then we can go home.”   

Sherlock wanted to speak, but words failed to come out of his mouth. His vocal cords seemed to have froze, rendering them useless. He watched his mother open the door and leave. On her way out, she talked to John for a few seconds. She smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder — yes, actually touched him — before leaving. Sherlock shook his head, unable to believe that his mother was okay with all of this. Last time he checked, being what he was was a crime.   John came strolling in with a smile upon his face. He walked over to Sherlock’s bed and took a seat in the chair next to his bed. He reached out for Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it.   

“Everything okay?” He asked, even though he already knew that everything was fine. More than fine, actually. Well. Things would’ve been more than fine if Sherlock wasn’t stuck in the hospital.   

Sherlock smiled at his boyfriend, unable to believe that someone like John had given him the time of day, and decided that he was worth being with. He still didn’t understand what he saw in him, but he didn’t mind that he didn’t understand. As long as John wanted to be with him, that’s all that mattered.   

“Yes, everything is okay, John.”  


	46. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry about the delay in posting! However, here is the chapter that you have been waiting for! I hope that you enjoy it!

Sherlock never thought that after his little incident about a month ago that he would be about to take the stage, in front of a crowd of people. He thought that the fact that his face looked quite like a bruised peach would keep the people at the ballet school from letting him audition. He wasn’t sure why he had originally thought that, but it had been a thought that he couldn’t shake at the time. After all, beauty was a big part of ballet. At least, that's what he had thought before they let him audition.   

Now, though, he was about to walk onto the stage, and perform his biggest piece. Being the lead in a performance was something he had always wanted, but he didn’t realize that he’d be the lead so soon after he had started to attend classes at the school. Usually they reserved those spots for the dancers that actually went to the school full-time, but they had let Sherlock have the lead because apparently they liked his dancing the most.   When he heard that he had the lead, he couldn’t believe it. He called John right away and he came rushing over to Sherlock's flat about an hour later with a bunch of cupcakes that he had baked. Sherlock had told him that he didn’t shouldn't have any cupcakes when he told him that he got the lead, but John didn’t care. He told Sherlock that one cupcake wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, he danced so much he’d probably burn the cupcake off right away. And, at the time, Sherlock was looking quite thin which he knew worried John.   So, to appease John, Sherlock ate the cupcake. He can’t say that he regretted it. The cupcake had been fantastic, as always.   

That day of celebration seemed like it happened a year ago even though it only happened two months ago. Sherlock sucked in a breath and peered around the corner of the curtain, out into the audience. He scanned the second row, hoping that he would see a familiar face. Since Sherlock was the lead, the school had given him a bunch of tickets so his family members and friends could sit closer to the stage. Sherlock didn’t know how many people would actually show up, though. His mother knew about his dancing now, but she hadn’t been overly happy that he had gotten a lead. She had said that he should be focusing more on his studies rather than some play that wouldn’t really “contribute” anything to his career. Little did she know that he was still planning on being a professional ballet dancer.   Since his mother was so against him dancing, Sherlock was sure that she wouldn’t show up. Plus, she actually had to work tonight so he doubted that she would try to leave work early to see him dance. He truly believed that her opinion about the whole dancing thing would change if she saw him dance. He thought that she would believe that he was skilled enough to make a career of dancing. Unfortunately though, he doubted that would ever happen.   
  
He sighed when he realized that  the second row was full of people that he didn’t know. Of course no one showed up. He frowned just as his gaze slid across a boy sitting in the last seat in the row. The boy was staring at the stage, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. John. Sherlock stared at him, his eyes wide. This was the first time John would actually see him dance in public, so it was quite a big deal to him that he was actually here, supporting him. Even though John had seen him dance before, the fact that John was going to watch him dance in an actual production made Sherlock’s stomach twist.   

Sherlock was thrown out of his thoughts as the auditorium quieted. The song that was playing ended, signaling that it was Sherlock’s turn to take the stage. He sucked in a breath and twirled onto the stage. There was some clapping, but the auditorium was mainly quiet. He danced across the stage, joining the rest of his company. They danced behind him, half-covered in shadows. The main spotlight was on Sherlock, capturing his every movement for the audience. Sherlock kept his gaze forward, on a little blue square that was on the back wall of the theatre. He refused to get sidetracked. He couldn’t let himself get sidetracked.   His performance went perfectly; he executed every movement beautifully and managed to keep the audience’s attention. At the end of the production, he heard the audience rupture into applause as he walked off of the stage.   
  
Once he was away from the stage, Sherlock leaned against a wall that was near the dressing room, completely breathless. He couldn't believe that he had actually managed to dance in front of people without messing up.   Slowly, his breathing went back to normal. He sucked in a breath before retiring back to his dressing room. Some people congratulated him on his performance, but most people had went to see their own family and friends. Right when he opened the door to his room, he heard a clearing of a throat behind him.   

“Myc—” Sherlock began, figuring that Mycroft had come to tell him that he should stop pursuing his little fantasy of becoming a professional ballet dancer.   

“Not quite,” a voice said, cutting him off. It was a voice that Sherlock knew all too well by this point.   

Sherlock turned around, bitting his lip gently. John was standing a few feet away from him, holding a bouquet of red roses. Sherlock’s eyes widened.

  “What are those?” he asked, pointing to the present.

  “Don’t you know?” John asked, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

He took a step forward.  

“Well, clearly they are flowers… but why?”

  John walked to Sherlock until their feet were brushing each other’s. The smile on John’s face grew.

  “Because that… was incredible. You were incredible.”   

“You’ve seen me dance before, John,” Sherlock murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

He seemed incapable of making his voice become any louder.   

“Yes, I know… but never like that. You were incredible.”   

Before Sherlock could respond, or really process what was happening, John rolled onto his tiptoes. He kissed Sherlock gently, sweetly, barely brushing his lips against his. Sherlock kissed him back and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer to him. Part of Sherlock was aware that some people were walking near them, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the person that was kissing him, the person who always seemed to be there for him, even when he least expected him to be.   After what seemed like several minutes, they pulled away, both of their faces bright red. John grinned at Sherlock; his eyes seemed to twinkle under the lights.

  “Want to go get some cupcakes now?”   

Sherlock grinned and nodded.   

“I thought you’d never ask.”  


End file.
